Last night as I was falling asleep, I thought I heard the cat purring loudly next to the bed. I asked my husband if he could hear her, and he said all he could hear was the rain. It wasn't till a little later, when the cat jumped up on the bed and began purring, that I realized that the noise I'd heard wasn't a contented feline but was, in fact, rain drumming the roof, lulling me with its low, soothing cadence.
I thought of this when, laid low by allergies, I was trying to nap this afternoon. Rain was coming down again, only this time it sounded like a military parade drum-roll as it rhythmically tapped the propane tanks outside the bedroom window. Several years ago I recall awakening on a summer night to the sound of cars driving on wet streets, thinking I was hearing waves crash on my grandparents' beach. Rain can be so many kinds of music. As Eric Clapton sang, "The sky is crying, look at the tears rolling down the street..."
While the clouds were pouring and purring a rainy lullaby on our roof, snow fell silently northwest of here. Friends in Vermont report waking up to snow this morning.
Rain pours down, it purrs,
curls its tail around our house,
lulls us back to sleep.
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