Subjective subtext

"Amen," he said after swiping his paw across his grizzled face.

The rain came. The dog moaned and rolled over. He walked away; each step resonated with the thick resolve of his promise. The woman moaned and rolled over. The rain came and it saturated them all in different ways.

Every inch of life cried in joyous sorrow. There was a tender quality in how his boots fell. There was an unnerving quality in the way the forest rendered him silent. Then the rain came over him. The woman was pale. The dog was flushed. The days progressed and an emotion rose to the surface but nobody reacted to it.

It is a hollow house with hollow occupants and the rain echoes in the emptiness. Amen.