The rain was still falling. It was really just a mist now, but the loud drip-drop coming off the eaves and falling, splat, upon the porch, filled my ears like the storm had. It was a child of the storm, I thought, something like a rainbow, an aftereffect. I closed my eyes and let the drip-dropping eaves and the soft din of the falling mist and the sound of distant trees, like our roof, shedding the damp heaviness of the rain off their boughs fill my ears. Rain and storm are songs, I think. Or, perhaps, they are merely dreams.
Fill My Ears
Tale Told 