Little elves I cannot see are playing double dutch outside my window. Their footprints dance in the puddles as it rains.
In the hotel across the square from me a little light burns. It warms a solitary room as all the others are dark or curtained against this grey and misty day. The keeper of that light is a kindred spirit, for it is days like today that I like to watch, too. Rain or snow, mist or fog, draw me to sit in the window to think of deep thoughts or of nothing at all.
On days like today, fairy tales are born.