It's cold outside and I sit hunched in the car,
curiously watching my wavy reflection
act out my slightest movements
in the foggy window. 
Idleness taps on my shoulder
and slowly my mind drifts from the window
to the hobbling drunks on the street,
and then to life, my life.

I can't help but think there's a magic
wand, or perhaps a baton, in the
hands of a master conductor,
directing my life with the precision
and planning of a jewellery heist.

There were times when I wanted a door
to be opened where the sun rises 
with hopeful rays and opportunities,
right over the green hills,
where birds with colourful plumage sing.
It was opened with a little bit
of creaking and some personal effort.

There were other times that despite
all the pushing, pulling and
lifting, the door would not open.
Sometimes a side-door appeared 
like a scene right out of The Matrix. 
And though I longed not to open it,
I usually did, more out of a lack
of alternatives.

It has began to drizzle now
and my eyes trail the little drops of rain
that seem to be holding hands
as they run down the window.
I keep musing on how the side-doors
have usually led to brightly lit corridors.
And how initial moments of despair
have turn out to be just as sweet
as the cherries on the hills.
Maybe even better.

Or is it just me trying to paint
events with positive colours?
Or truly, there's a hand, surely a baton,
at work, conducting the symphony of my life?