Tiny Feet

I woke-up early to a the sound of sweet, beautiful, pelting rain; an  utterance that’s become more familiar this fall and early winter. It’s tune, rhythmic; it echoes and reverberates throughout the house. 

No, that’s not it. That’s too trite. Banal. I’ve trivialized the importance of this rain.

Rather,

Tonight, the rain heralds more like a song, or a victory dance upon my rooftop, denouncing the drought we’ve been in for so very long. I can almost hear the melody being tapped out by the rain’s tiny feet.

“Drought be damned! Drought be damned!”