A beginning that goes nowhere

The streets are caked with mud. They used to be covered in dust, but then the rains came and turned it all to mud. It was a relief from the dry heat of summer that had only recently turned oppressively humid. The humidity was worse than the dryness as damp clothes clung to the skin, not unlike the mud that now covered the streets. The rain cleared everything. Oppressive humidity that suffocated people now antagonised the streets. All personal grievances had finally turned public. The rain purified the air for the people but muddied the streets. Was everything purifying bound to soil the purity of something else? Was purity ultimately a zero-sum game? Such thoughts came to me as I sat looking out the window. Then I realised that the dryness, the humidity, and the relief from humidity meant nothing to me. It was all academic. None of it actually bothered me. I peered at life from behind a window.