It’s raining, the cold taps of moisture on the surface of my skin. A poignant reflection in the puddle ripples changing a simple reality. The morning looks like the evening; in the indigo sky, there is no sense of time.

David W. Jones
Every Moment is a Story.
It’s raining, the cold taps of moisture on the surface of my skin. A poignant reflection in the puddle ripples changing a simple reality. The morning looks like the evening; in the indigo sky, there is no sense of time.