And here I am, sitting by the window, notebook open flat upon a table, watching the same rain fall into a street, still with nothing much at all to say. I notice though that this mid-winter day is familiar, as rain turns into sleet, as each and every day I've been unable to imagine the means of denting the status quo. Is it because, in the intervening years, raising children, seeing them depart, in turn raising children of their own, a kind of bewilderment has grown? The mind overtaken by the heart, the vision often blurred by welling tears.
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