12:34

That night the wind blew.

It feels as though it should be a quote, or at least an off-quote, but it probably isn't.

It's not the beginning, or the end, or maybe even the climatic centerpiece.

It's somewhere in the middle, past the exposition and before the denouement - the unpleasant suspense of a story not yet told.

Last night there were stars. Not many. But enough to count.

Tonight, they are hidden; covered with an electric city-lit shroud of clouds and rain. and wind.

Everything doesn't happen for a reason.

But at 12:34am, it's hard to distinguish the things that do from the things that don't. Or even remember why it matters that there's a line to be drawn.

All that matters at 12:34 is that sometimes they do,

and sometimes they don't.

and the stars are hidden.

and

that night, the wind blew.