Of Atmosphere and Sound

They are cast in the shadows of thick, grey clouds beneath sheets of drizzling rain-sounds. Tiny fingers are tapping on reverberant walls when at once, he puts a record on of lonely pianos playing. Brewing dark liquids, they contemplate... Yet coffee is not the only brew. There is also a melting pot of atmosphere and sound, sparking great and heavy ideas, causing him to ponder life and death and all that does and does not matter. A steam rises from the rim of his cup, where heat kissed the harvest air, as a minor chord then rises in time with this click of a droplet's rhythm. He blinks, finding then that he is alone, and lost in that flow of song and spirit and sound.