Pitter Patter
By Michael Stolt
Pitter-Patter
Pitter-patter, the rain falls softly.
The iron roof becomes nature’s instrument –
Ting -tang-ting-tang,
A kettle drum drummed up by the rain.
It is soothing in a dry place;
The sound of rain – ting-tang-ting -tang
Pitter-patter
Where rain is often somewhere else
Visiting places it knows well.
When it comes here, it is hesitant,
Shy almost. First a few drops,
Testing the ground as it were.
The first few drops come spitting, hit and miss.
Tong…tong…tong, a heartbeat, a throb of life.
The sound on the tin roof is one of hope.
The next splatters tong…tong… ting
Silences our chatter because we are praying,
Urging the sky to shed its shyness
And open up.
As if the rain has heard our thoughts,
More drops start to fall and the tin roof
Starts to chime away – ting-tong- tang.
There is news on the roof from the heavens
And We sit and listen so spellbound no interpreter is needed
In a gesture of starting slow, mother nature seems
To be asking, “Are you ready, my love?”
In a silent discourse we are not meant to hear
Or understand, the answer comes.
Mother nature opens up the heavens and beautiful
Rain comes pouring down.
The sound on the tin roof is a cacophony. That kettle drum
Has become a frenzied bunch of zombies trying to beat their way in.
We all start breathing again, only now noticing
That we were holding our breathes all along.
The smell of rain on the highveld air is sweet.
It awakens the soul. It smells of pure joy.
It smells like soil that is smiling, rich and creamy
With an aftertaste of life.
This smell is what gets us up, we cannot keep still any longer.
A jumping bean collective – only with arms and legs.
There is no holding joy back. Not even man’s best
Efforts or machinery can control it.
We are out the back door, naked.
Our clothes lie abandoned and lifeless under the drumming roof.
Do you know what freedom feels like?
It is being naked,
running and jumping and rolling in the grass
while clean cold rain
Frolics over the hills and dales of your skin.
We are squealing with delight.
Have you ever had a sore face from smiling?
The rain is no longer shy – she is now laughing with us.
It is a beautiful sight and sound. The pitter patter and splash
Of rain.
The rain settles in to an easy tempo, one that quietens the world and darkens
The sky. One that will continue for hours.
It is a cosiness, a gentleness the world desperately needs.
We go back inside where it is dry.
Our bones shiver.
A hot bath and a cup of tea restores us to warmth.
Under the blankets with a book we creep – yet rain gazing keeps our eyes
On the story happening outside.
The sounds of rain touching trees, roofs and earth is the
Sound of gentleness, growth and renewal.
The soul can rest in this.
We take deep breathes, the world slows and goes quiet.
When we wake the rain is gone. She could not wait for us.
We are not sad, her visit was magic, as always.
Pitter- patter the rain’s memory clear and cold on our own.
