The Happy House

Cloud cloud has covered the sky the sun is hidden a gale, brawling, whirls through the alley morning or night? Time is lost. The hail has become a downpour, has become a whip it lashes the windows. The pane of my window, held tight in the frame's embrace, trembles for a moment and grows calm again: as if a lonely human being had suddenly found itself — forever — in the warm ring of human arms in the storm...