Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Tin Roof

A steady rhythm tapped a sleepy song lulling me to sleep. The old tin roof.

Among the many things my sister and I talked over during our long drive from Florida to Indiana was the sound of rain on the old tin roof of our house back the lane on Neff Road. Soft rain was like a lullaby sung to us by nature on an old tin drum. It is a song I miss whenever the rain falls on my house. I listen, but it is not there.

When a storm came to visit Neff Road, the patter on the roof turned into pounding, rain beating down asking us to take notice. Sometimes it scared me. Other times it was fascinating. The songs of the rain on an old tin roof.

I think my children and grandchildren miss something living in well-insulated homes with thick roofs. Maybe there is a security in not hearing the rain. But, I think not. I think imaginations soar with the sounds of nature, this sound that lulled babies to sleep and children to sometimes hide their heads beneath the blankets.

I sit in my home watching the storm. It silently taps against the window. So I throw open the door and stand listening to nature cleanse her earth once more. The rain falls on my face and takes me home once more. “Oh, let there be thunder, I pray.” None comes.

Ah, for one more night beneath the tin roof. Tap…tap….tap….shhhhhh, I’m remembering.

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