It was raining this morning in Topeka. Oh, nothing like the toad-stranglers we had in Western Kansas sometimes. No, this rain was more like a drizzle, a dampening of what was out of doors overnight. Evidence of the ongoing drizzle was made plain by the water that I heard fall off the eave during the night.
I like that sound…water dripping off a roof. There’s something soothing and quieting about that, especially while I am in bed, warm and dry. I think that sound takes me back to times when I was growing up. My room was at one corner of the house where rainwater dripped off the eaves and on to a walkway below. It was somehow soothing for me then, too, to hear that sound. Sometimes I’d hear it early in the morning, after Mom and Dad had gotten up and before all the kids aroused. That sound would be combined with the smell of coffee on the stove (she perked it the cowboy way…over a fire on the gas stove), the rustling of the morning paper, the noise of Bruce Beheimer on KFH radio (Wichita) giving the market report (Dad was a farmer/stockman), and the once-in-a-while talking across the table.
I kind of miss hearing Bruce’s nasally monotone, the smell of Mom’s coffee (which poured out of the pot like syrup), and the table talk. I don’t have to miss the rain dripping off of the eave, though. And that’s enough for me.
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