As shavings splintered off a wooden block the scattered rain falls. As the workman pauses, so does his work; short relapses leave me wondering about the consistency of life.
Is it in the pouring rain we endure, or the silent, breathless pauses?
Who is bolder? He who ventures knowingly into the storm, or the one, who though now in peace, knows not to what conditions his next step might lead?
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