|Rain Melting Snow|
Later, at my desk upstairs, rain patters hard against the southern window like the crumpling of tin. It pings in big drops and I stand at the wet-smeared window scanning Elmira Pond. Todd walks over and asks after ducks, but there are none today. He comments that the pond is growing. It is. That and the tall reeds and grass of late summer are bent by the winds, snow and heavy rains such as this.
Patter, patter, my fingers poke at computer keys. It is the rhythm of the day, perhaps of the season. Writing. Birding. Watching rain drops fall.