It’s January still. I await February and then March and most of all the first rainfall of the new year. I love the pattering on my rooftop , like thumbtapping of a happy hand, awaiting bliss inpatiently. I know it will come. I trust its presence in my life, every year, I smile when when I hear tapping so softly at first then with a celebratory pounding of its arrival back into my life. I smile and lay back in my bed, happy. It’s the turn in the year. For once the pattering has come on the roof, the flowers will come, the sun will be warmer and the smell of grass with fill the air during manly whirring sounds. The trees will no longer be silent but sing rustling tunes to the wind, as if soft whispered clapping and I can choose once again to be in light or shadow, every day with grass beneath my feet.

Keep warm for winter and listen for the coming of pattering.