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The gift of moisture my clothes quietly absorbed from the Shakujii-gawa while 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. It is a cunning strategy for escape, but it does not stand a chance against the blue and white striped dishtowel preparing for battle on the kitchen counter. Unfortunately, the colors of the impending brutality will clash so terribly with the day's dominant color scheme and the crisp countertop. I will try 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 a flattering comparison between the dish towel and the striated white clouds against the rich azure of the sky will diffuse the mounting tension and make clear my high esteem for the earthbound mundane.