He was in the library, walking down the aisles. The tall stained glass windows cast beautiful sinuous shadows weaving designs on the ancient cold stone floors. Floors that shone as if they had been polished, floors that had been worn to shine by the thousands of feet that walked them everyday. He had taken enough pictures for the day. And now he just had to pick up his books from the locker and leave. It was then that he noticed it.
The drops were trickling down steadily. And every once in a while a large one would be pulled by the forces of gravity, to go down faster and meet the previous one, already on its way down. Coalese and fuse together, be swallowed by one another, till their separate identites, no longer existed. And then further down they would go, in one smooth motion.
He had now been watching them fall for over ten minutes. Staring from where he was standing. Totally captivated at their almost periodic recurrence. The occassional rouge drop just seemed to add to the beauty. He wanted to capture it in his lens, in his mind, in every tiny bit of his memory. He did not want to use the flash. That would kill the beauty of the drop and obscure it with all the background details. He wanted long enough exposure, though - for, the stained glass was not letting sufficient light through.
Hell! - If only he could ask her to move over beneath the window and cry!
