The start of my Great Canadian Novel

A Montreal Song

The warm summer rains had returned to find me again.As I looked out to the street below, the first gentle shower began to fall : staining the grey concrete world far below me, soaking the parched grass, swelling the waiting seeds, and stirring them to life.

Those people that remained outside quickened their pace, scurrying to automobiles or doorways, under the protection of newspapers or umbrellas.Only a few children reveled in enjoying the event, playing childrens games, until anxious mothers finally found them.

My attention centered mainly though on the glass of the window pane. Inches from my eyes, a tiny world full of fascinating drama was unfurling. I watched as the drops started out, quickly dribbling their way down until, at some point, most would stop. A small number managed to start and continue uninterrupted, never merging with another, never slowing – but their number was small, and by far the exception to the general order.

For the others, most would pause until anothers momentum could overcome their inertia. When they finally slid out of sight, it seemed their loss was balanced by anothers arrival, it's destiny that of being condemned to follow all who had come before.

Touching my head to the cool glass, I found myself amazed at this miniature performance being played out on the tiny stage of a tenement window, to the backdrop of a blackened, twisted, sky.
Occasionally, the shuddering protest of a window being forcibly slammed shut, or the far away rumble of the thunder low over the hills to the north, would serve to pull me back to reality. But then, eventually, the magic of the raindrops on the window would softly grab hold, and return me back again.

I found myself thinking of all the futile attempts my kind had made in trying to portray life,and our place in it. All the plays and various philosophies I had studied so faithfully in school were wasted energy compared to Nature's impromptu thumbnail sketch in front of me.The collective genius of Man had about as much of an idea of it's position, as one of the raindrops on the glass did.

In fact, it was easy thinking of us all in this way. There was no doubt in my mind that I,at least,was a slowing droplet of water on a never ending expanse of glass, gradually losing momentum, my forward progress lessening with each passing second of the day.