turning off the window wipers

Stuck in traffic. Rain. Lights; not going anywhere. I'm the driver at the wheel.
So I turn off the metronome of the wipers. Lose the beat of my journey.
The water, wet, claims the view. And the light bleeds, blots. I let the rain paint me a picture on glass. Soak up the scene as a dream.

Until we're off again.

Suddenly the monotonous metronome of the wipers is measuring the way. And a thousand works of Art side-swept for the journey.