It's been raining so long that I miss the curséd dust that curls up behind my car and settles comfortably onto its aging paint as I roll carelessly down the gravel road.  In the city, people must glance at the filth on my car and wonder what kind of person I am. It makes me laugh to think about how much time it would take to keep my vehicle clean. Time gets wasted on vanity.  The sky doesn't care about you or your car and that makes me rest easy because the sky and the universe are way more powerful than the person who shakes her head as I pass by looking dirty.  Let it rain. We all look the same when we're drenched–a little innocent and bewildered, shivering. I look at this image and see the audacity of man who thinks he can control electricity when the earth and sky can conspire so easily to stab him with a lightning bolt that will sunder his hopes and dreams in a nanosecond. Each particle of dust, each drop of rain, each moment of time, every revolution of your tires, the quick movements of your eyes, the flick of your fingers on your smartphone, anything that happens as you make your way though the forest of your day leaves its mark. And whether you notice it or not, whether you acknowledge its effect on you or on those around you, you are changed. Small things fit into the vast everything. I'm trying not to get lost in the details.