Creative- Umbrella

Fat drops of rain on the window in front of me, violent splashes of cold water, hints of a far away autumn, whispers of my birthday, leafy paths, chilly air, icy nights, long sleeves, fireplaces... London’s summer!
A fading memory of white skirts blurring at the back of my mind, melting with the vivid green of a garden in full bloom, insects buzzing, honeysuckle, lavender, mint, wisteria. It’s fading: an image lazing in a back drawer; rain can be magical, sunshine far less.

I can see people beneath me, a herd of colourful umbrellas, bright islands in the dark of the tarmac: some stand out, some are plain, dull. Playing the role of an obsessive psychoanalyst, one could argue they mirror the personality of the person they cover.
I happen to be content to sit and look at them mixing up together, leaving my mind free to wander about the people, under their waterproof veil: lives, thoughts, houses, ambitions, regrets, personal data, Oyster cards, feelings, mortgages...
Some might call it killing time, as you might do at the airport waiting for your flight and trying to guess bystanders destinations, to figure out what exotic reason lies behind their travelling. I used to like to call it a hobby... a luxurious hobby, considering how important filling any second of our waking time has become: time is definitely not to be killed.

Lost in this “activity”, your eyes sometimes meet a total stranger’s; in a split second, you can catch a glimpse of each other’s souls. It might sound like New Age junk, but I suppose you can think of human beings as surrounded by an invisible circle, which assembles, obviously ideally, every person each of us has a relationship with, from the faintest to the strongest. Two people catching each other’s gaze, looking into each other’s eye, make (why making???? – subject = two people, vb = make.. might be wrong!) their circle intersect, intertwined forever, obliviously nevertheless.
People I’ll never meet again, people who might become important, people who’ve come to stay, people who are staying on one side, waiting for me to make them relevant.

Busy with people’s circles, I’m not aware of the rooftops staring at me, and firm on layers of steady bricks, which impassively bear the weight of the water. Chimneys, however, seem to be tickling clouds away, a feeble attempt to free themselves from that soaking burden.
Apparently unnoticed, the wind starts blowing a little more strongly... is it coming to help the chimneys and rooftops in their struggle?
I catch myself conceiving a sort of epic conflict, (of??? – can’t understand why! – what I meant was: “epic conflict which opposes”) opposing clouds and rooftops, the wind apparently allied to the latter, tree seemingly neutral...

I wake up from daydreaming.