The rain seemed to start several stories below. If I saw it, ever, it just floated in place. Neither rising nor falling. Rain drops hoovering on invisible wings.
So after I emerged from the elevator and stood at that glass double doors, I was always shocked. Sometimes amazed at the dreariness of the water pooling on the well-curbed, black garbage bag mountain. Other times, relieved by the aggressive bluster and solid curtains, snaking down the middle of 23rd street.
That is not how it is here. But then, I am rarely far from ground level in San Francisco. I can tell when the rain is out there. It does not surprise me. But the rain is not as insistent here, either. It is a tad less pushy. A bit more polite as it ruins my morning dog walk route. And even on the most overcast, horrible looking mornings, the sun will emerge by lunchtime, drying the sidewalks, completely.
I am not really talking about the rain. Nor am I trying my hand at allusion.
You got to understand that THE FEARS are not a condition that fit on you and, then, suddenly, you are in them. Rather THE FEARS are a state of absence.
Regret? Not regret.
Not melancholy, either.
Something more fierce than sadness. Something that just sort of hoovers there, right out of reach, on invisible wings.
Uncertain Nervous Systems 
😦
I’ve enjoyed these last two posts. Hope you keep writing.
tanx. some writing is easier than other writing.