Friday, June 20, 2008

Rain by Morning

It should be raining here by morning. I've often heard people complain about the rain, but I love the wet stuff.
When I was young and my family lived in a mining camp house in West Pratt. The front of the house sat up high on cinder block supports and in winter, the wind out of the north whipped underneath making the worn linoleum floors inside, cold to bare feet. But when it rained in the spring and summer, my mother let me go under the house and play for hours with my army men and small wooden blocks that I used as bulldozers.
I built a thousand miles of roads and bridges under that old house as I listened to the rain falling gently on the tin roof. It is such a vivid memory, that the sound of rain on tin make me smile without conscientiously conjuring up the image.
When it came time to come inside, I always had to go around to the back of the house, strip down to my skivvies, and toss my outer clothes into a waiting Maytag washing machine that sat on the edge of the back porch. I was as dusty as a cowboy who has been chasing cows for days. More than once I ran around in the back yard and let the rain wash the dust away.
So if it's raining in the morning, I just may sleep in.

1 comment:

  1. Or you could run around in it and wash off the dust.


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