On the farm, rain, that essential element,
became the most welcome interruption
in our work-worn days.
If we woke to the sound of rain
pinging on the old tin roof,
happiness flooded our dreams.
Rain flooding over water troughs,
settling dust in dry, thirsty gardens,
splashing into puddles on dirt roads,
filling barrels placed by the back door.
“God is washing the earth,” Mother
would say. Dad would frown, clear
his throat, grab the milk bucket,
and head for the barn.
Pets and work animals alike, settled
in for a day of leisure. We joined them
in lazy anticipation of a “do nothing” day.
We greet rain today with worry, facing
traffic congestion, wet feet, and a long,
slow drive to work. No longer do we enjoy
such a thing as a “day off” because of rain.
But I still love the sound of it
pinging on the roof as I fall asleep.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2017