Softly Falling Rain

One of my earliest memories of childhood is of the soft Montana rain falling on our tin roof. Back then our roof seemed silver, but of course it was plain, ordinary tin. Yet when it shimmered in the sun it was indeed silver to me, and when played by the fingers of April rain there never was a sweeter sounding instrument. It rivaled the beautiful music of the band "Celtic Woman," or the moving songs of the Carpenters, which were so popular back then. But unlike Karen Carpenter, "Rainy Days and Mondays" didn't get me down. I always relished the soft sound of that rain tapping on the roof. During the day, or as I lay in bed in the dark of night it was a lulling melody, a melody without music.

I suppose the rain did make me melancholy at times, but I am the type who enjoys melancholy, who enjoys the memories that melancholy brings to the heart. And the lullaby of that nighttime music can not be rivalled. The only thing that could be sweeter to my ears these years later would be to hear my daddy playing his guitar and singing his cowboy songs to us from the darkness.

Today it rained here in southeast Idaho. It was that sweet, soft, lingering rain, the kind where the sky turns light gray as far as the eye can see. It was the kind of rain that gently soaks into every pore of the earth, watering my trees, my garden, my flowers--free water!!! The City fathers can't charge me a dime for this, as much as I'm sure they'd like to claim responsibility.

The world tonight is wet and wonderful, and it seems as if it could not be more at peace. As a firefighter, there seems to be all too little of that. To all of you out there reading this, I wish you peace and tranquility, and I wish you the magic of closing your eyes and listening to rain dance on your own "silver" roof.