Rain

It is a dark afternoon with steady rain. I have been sitting at the dining room table working on the New York Times crossword. It is one of the great treats here, going to get the Sunday paper at 8:30 in the morning. It’s $6 ($7.40CAD), so not cheap, but it is fun to sit every Sunday morning and flip through it.

The rain is pounding on the roof. The windows give out onto the carport and the pounding is even louder from there where it’s a thin metal roof. From the highrise  where I live in Halifax, rain is mostly silent. It hits the ground, or the tops of cars, or the pavement, twelve floors down, and I don’t hear a thing.

I abandon my puzzle and go to sit in the carport, where there are many different sounds of rain. I am in their cocoon. Sharp taps on the roof. Splish splashing from the eavestrough downspout into a forming puddle. Smackity smack onto concrete patio tiles next door. From the street a gurlging river dives through the grate to the sewer. Beyond, all around, the sound of rain landing on everything is lower as the rain increases, higher as it lightens up.

I think I should live closer to the ground.

just below street level a maelstrom of froth