ontheborderland:

Yesterday evening, the rain dripped steadily from a fog-wreathed sky, which faded up into solid white, as if we all suddenly were living in the confines of a snow-globe.  I felt soothed by the green and grey, the rich vegetable scents emanating from the ivy, the intoxicating resiny greenery wafting from the hedges planted alongside the fancy hotel, its spotlight bulbs puffing clouds of steam from the water landing on the warm surfaces.

I was a green thing in need of rain myself and I sat and watched the slow spread of ripples on the pond, and felt the cool wind and wondered how many more days would be like this one.  The streetlights reflecting off the white fog ensured that night would never quite arrive and I found myself walking to the local shrine to visit the gingko tree there.  It is over 500 years old and it feels like a friend even though I am a mere blip on its page of lonely existence.

I like being cosmically insignificant; if humans were more important I should be terribly ashamed because most of the time we seem to be doing a miserable job of things.  We should all try harder.