The Natural Distraction

Here is a little piece that I churned out while in a writer's group meeting:

It was a window seat with a perfect view of the lawn outside. The sky was overcast and gray, but it could not lower my mood when there were brightly colored glass squares dangling over my head and enough lighting for me to see the book in front of me. There was time, certainly. I didn’t have to rush, but who would waste a day indoors, even if it was a darkening sky ushering in a storm.

It was raining, sure, but what was a little water. Wind and rain were a refreshing treat after the heat that had baked my skin for weeks. I could just feel the wind as I watched the rain lash against the windowpanes. There was just enough going on outside that I was distracted. I put down the book and just had to stare at the elements. I would be going out there in a little while. Would it be as wild as it was now? Would I be drenched by the time I returned to my room? 

Focus and get the work done, I mentally berated myself for getting distracted. There wasn’t time to stare out the window. There was time, but not enough for that. So I picked up my book again, but I couldn’t help being drawn to the window again. I could see people passing by. Some with brightly colored umbrellas or flashy rain jackets that made the water splash like a fountain. They were all serious, walking purposefully across the bricks and waterlogged ground. They sidestepped little rivers of water and kept walking. Their heads bent down, bent away from the water falling down. I wanted to just leap through the window. I wanted to feel that water on my face and just forget about the papers and work that was dragging me under. The glass was so clear, it was like I could step through it into another world. Another world so close—No. I needed to sit here and focus. 
Sit here and focus. Focus…