rain and august

by Bella Rum

It’s raining here; it’s a soft, gentle, steady rain. The sound is mesmerizing. My ear is adjusting to the drip, drip, drip off the roof above. The spent blossoms of the crepe myrtle are collecting on the tops of the gutter guards on the porch roof below. I can see them out my window. It’s August and August is doing what August always does. Things are decaying and making their way back to the earth – completing the cycle.

H is down stairs. He’s out on the porch. He’s barbecuing chicken breasts that have been soaking up a yogurt marinade since this morning. I never knew how tender yogurt could make chicken until recently.

We looked at a few houses today – one story. It’s amazing how little space you get for your money in a one story house. Building up costs much less than building out. I would settle for a first floor bedroom with a couple of bedrooms upstairs for the kids and grandkids. That would be fine.

It’s quiet up here. Just the dripping. That’s it. I swear. It’s so quiet. I bet you can hear a car starting up right this minute, or a dog barking, or the kids fighting over who gets the red cup. It’s hardly ever silent anywhere.

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