Tranquility and Turmoil

The fog has lifted. Rain has washed it away. The wind has returned and the stillness has gone. Trees rip from side to side battling the conditions for their own preservation. The same as the rest of us. Chico is devoid, vacuous, desolate. It is only a Tuesday. Only another day. I see the same faces, the same smiles, the same demeanors. Cliques come and go, a few stay for a moment, many linger for hours. What do we search for? Something to fill our empty nights, our blinded sights, or our unoccupied lives? The void is encumbering, and that is all I can feel. Lingering as the night, I see all. There is little to view. Does depression thrust itself onto me now or am I ignorant? The streets are empty. Only a few familiar specters wander in the distance. The rain has come again, and I must go home. The lit tree in town square stands in defiance. Yet it too is alone. As we all are or eventually become, alone.