Clouds, like seals, swooped through the sodden sky, throwing careless sprays of water that were only tempered by the protective masses of leaves on the dark trees. Not that the bird minded the extra soaking, he was wet to the bone and it wasn't very cold anyway. So, once one got used to it, the rain, in its various manifestations, became a companion to his solitude. But this was an "in-between time" wasn't it? The sun would come out wouldn't it? His spirits had a weight on top of them as if they were shut into a box whose top is ajar but still won't come free. Waiting it out seemed better than to struggle. Indeed, by struggling he had opened the box and put himself inside!