Morse Rain

A seagull flew out of an eyebrow of morning sunlight. The narrow band of light, an arched brow between the last the remnants of night and a rolling bank of clouds, was morning's brave attempt at a bright day.

A day that was quickly claimed by a drizzle that grew into a steady rain with the approach of evening.

Now the rain drums on the roof - a Morse Code message calling occupants of the home to the warm comforts of bed and the bliss of drifting sleep.  It is to that sleep that I go now, to venture in worlds where the impossible is commonplace.