The gift of moisture that my clothing quietly absorbed from the Shakujii gawa while I was running alongside it has evaporated without my knowledge and secretly given itself as condensation to the cold windows, effectively blocking my view of the river with the river itself. A cunning strategy for escape, but one that does not stand a chance against the blue and white striped dish towel preparing for the confrontation. The colors of the impending brutality will unfortunately clash so terribly with the day's dominant color scheme and the crisp cleanliness of the kitchen countertop. I will try my best to dissuade the towel from following through on its intentions and allow the condensation to evaporate again and move on to the next transformation, but this is a delicate matter. Perhaps I will attempt a flattering comparison between the towel and the striated white clouds against the rich azure of the sky. I don’t know, possibly this will diffuse the mounting tension and make clear the high esteem I hold for the earthbound mundane as well as the ephemerality of moisture.