Rainy Night Through A Windowpane By Ilona Agur

Raindrops streak across the windowpane, leaving trails in their wake. I marvel at the intricate web they form. Each fresh droplet forms a new stroke, the pattern on the windowpane shifting and twisting accordingly.

My fingertip squeaks on the glass as I trace across the lines. Screech, squeal. Every turn my finger makes against the cool pane, the friction speaks on command. A silly grin grows on my lips. Screech squeal squeak screak cheep.

With a huff, I breathe on to the glass, the condensation fogging up a palm-sized portion of its surface. First, I place two dots an inch apart. Then a semi-circle underneath. Maybe some strokes of hair, two dainty eyelashes, a quaint nose- but wait, the image is fading… a neck, freckles, and ears.

All too soon, it disappears into a small, wet patch.

Past the reflections of my room’s light, past the muddling water streaks, city lights shine in the distance. I cup my hands around my eyes to see them better: specks of red, yellow and blue, blurred from the droplets passing my view. I feel my eyelashes meet the window, press my nose against it, no doubt marking it red from the pressure.

Sigh. The heat of my exhale reflects on my face from the glass, and I feel a moistness reach my cheeks. There is a strange contrast between my cold nose and the creeping warmth in my cheeks and chin. Softly, I lean my forehead to the window, then my cheeks, and a chill replaces the warmth that had been there a second ago.

Such a quiet, insignificant moment.