Raindrop Windows

The raindrop stained windows,

Are fogged up,

By the steam from my hot tea.

I can see the outline of trees outside,

Dancing in the wind.

A faint glow,

From the nearby street lamp,

Tracing the edges of each and every branch.

All doors and windows closed,

Except one.

Through the open window,

Just in front of me,

I can smell the dark.

The sweet fragrance of the wet stones and trees.

The sharp scent of melting frost,

Climbs in through the mesh separator.

I can feel the rain,

From inside my room.

With each raindrop that tickle my bones,

I begin to feel it from inside me.

The slight breeze that crawls through the window,

Is kind.

As the air brushes my bare arms,

I can hear beautiful words.

As I take on last sip,

From my bittersweet peppermint tea,

The last raindrop had fallen for the night.

So I picked up my book beside me,

And began something with an entirely different type of beauty.