Don't ask me why,
but it's 3 AM and I'm wandering around the house.
I walk without meaning or direction,
aimless.
Like a traveller astray,
I explore.
Study the pitch black rooms.
Float through the hallways.
Gaze into the skylight.
And count the windows.
Seventeen.

Upstairs, the night-time overcast comes past the glass.
A film of blue-grey light.
A moonlit shadow of rain.
It bounces off of the walls,
illuminating the path back to my room.
Gently guiding me to bed.

The rain is graveling the rooftop now.
And the heater has a low rumble.
Safe sounds.
A bundle up within my covers,
breathing against myself,
and curl my body against my dog who lay beside me.
This rainfall is no pitter-patter.
It strikes the roof like little stones,
thunking and banging as it hits the wood.
Still 3 AM.

This storm sings for me.
I hear the trees moan as they sway.
The wind's falsetto.
The creeks brood within the confines of a dripping forest.
Outside I hear the raindrops playing.
Together creating the perfect symphony.

This night tune lulls my dog to sleep.
It ushers me into the dream world.

I no longer walk, lost and lonely, throughout the house.
And the rain continues her thunderous song.