To
keep strangers at bay,
most of the homes were shacks.
He
felt a stab of disappointment.
Evidence
of harshness raced along-
concrete
blocks, stacked bricks-
a sort of stalemate
everywhere
he looked.
A
moment later, he could see
drops on the windshields of cars.
Somewhere
in between
the
rain of a thousand storms,
A
lone strand of Christmas lights had been
turned
on, as if,
welcoming
him home.
[ A
place where it mattered
when he awoke.]
Source: Chapter 9, Nights in Rodanthe by Nicholas Sparks
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