Rambling rain

Describe all the things. Weave in and out of nonsense and poetic writing if you have to, but write. Every once in awhile I fall upon something I actually like. Too often I don't like what I write, but I can't even begin to like it if I don't first write it. So I will write and it doesn't matter if it's good or bad.

The window is moving. It's crawling with rain. Crawling isn't the right word, but I don't know what the right word is. The glass itself looks like it is perpetually flowing and yet the glass stays firm and it its place. The birds don't seem to mind the rain. I can see them circling the dunes, riding the wind currents home. Or perhaps they are being pushed violently away from their homes. They are all floating the same direction. There are strong gusts of winds. I can hear it whistling through cracks and whipping around the corners.

Why is it that I would much rather talk talk talk? Describe a conversation rather than describe the weather or my surroundings?

Maybe it's not worth analyzing. I just need to strengthen different writing muscles.

I love this weather. It doesn't make me sad. It makes me feel cozy and comforted. I'm enjoying being in a brightly lit kitchen looking out on the wind and rain.

Weak. I don't love this writing. But I don't have to. The end.