Life occurs from perspectives. Arbitrary as the view of rain. From the window the pattern can be found. Absent from the tempest. Onlooking at the pattern that continues. Whether it slows or enrages. The pattern of movement appears still. Multitudes of drops but none seem to move. Still ness of the wind. Flows the water steadily. No matter the pace the reference remains. Uncountable drops unique of their own. Indistinguishable from each other. Ever occurring around. But not staying still. Our eyes see the same frame of drops. Not none remain in place. As do we watch the rain fall. Counting out its immensity. So is our perspective of events around us. Ever happening yet not miraculous. Life is but the rain guised with importance.