Nasty-looking storm front moving in. First lightning strikes in the distance, wind moving in. Whether this will call for shutting down the system or not, I don’t know.
The tough parts, in life and in story. Walls with no chinks in them or wide open spaces with no trace of clear directions to a place worth reaching. The characters are stranded and so are you.
So, the wall. Taking in all its features. The empty space. Paying close attention to the disorientation. Something got you to this spot and the mind chatter about should have/could have/ why didn’t I is wasted energy (A) or, even worse, a distraction from newer signals in need of close monitoring.
The mind chatter says all the usual stuff. Outside my window, the mass of blue-grey clouds seems to be running parallel to the pale grey ones overhead. Storm front moving east? Maybe.
Life. Story. Story. Life. Doubt, loneliness and solitude are part of the mix. When they land, they take up a lot of space. Voilà, so on to whatever comes next.