Drip! Drop! Who said nature couldn’t beat on beat?
Very early in the morning (2am) I’m on my back porch, gazing at our streetlamp lit unfenced backyard, it’s drizzling. I hear my dear locomotive blasting her horn as she seemed to be heading this way; and then, this small continuous pounding coming from the right side gutter.
The side facing what used to be the neighborhood Pentecostal church. Drip, drop it went, but it wasn’t your average drip drop, it was more like… Well this is where words fail and become
tongueless. Drip! Drop! A symbol. nothing more. It doesn’t say much. I need a far more sophisticated tool to convey this. Sort of like retelling a dream. I always feel that I’m only skimming the surface of a surface of another surface–about as faithful as a ouija board.
So to conclude, as I listened, I noticed the Drip! Drop! had such great timing. I cannot remember nature ever being this precise–it must’ve been smiling at my arrogance of believing otherwise.
Raindrops! Drip! Drop! Raindrops! Drip Drop!