TheBanyanTree: Rainy Days and Mondays

[NancyIee at aol.com]

It's the REAL rainy season here, now. Not just a day's sprinkle, but the 
routine of humid mornings with a dull sun, giving way to lunchtime clouds, and 
late afternoon thunderstorms. That's every day. The yard is sodden, and the ducks 
have countless new ponds to splash in.

I do my outside work in the mornings, starting somewhere close after 5 a.m. 
when Jenny, the first dog, announces the coming morn.  "I have to go I have to 
go I have to go," shel yodels into the waning moon's fog.  I grumble and cover 
my head with the pillow, but she will not be dissuaded. Smart dog. She knows 
if she can get me up, I'll let her out and feed her. I hide in my bed long 
enough for her to wake the other dogs, and there's nothing like the shrill 
chatter of a pair of Chihuahuas to get me up. Katie seldoms barks. Katie the 
Havanese simple shreds her paper as loud as she can.

I am up. It's twenty after five. The dogs go out to romp and potty and race 
back for their breakfast. The two cats slide out of the bushes to eat, also. I 
stand under the porch overhang since there's a dampness in the air this 
morning. Jenny grabs one of my shoes, left outside because of the mud, and races out 
into the wet grass to "kill" it. She shakes and tosses it, ignoring my shouts 
of disapproval.  I rattle the "cookie" tin and she races back, leaving my 
shoe in a puddle in the driveway.It's part of the morning routine, playing steal 
the shoe and watching in glee as I hop out to fetch it.

The sun  may not shine this morning, but hide snuggled deep in the banks of 
clouds, making me think of my own warm bed and covers. The fog becomes a slight 
mist, becomes a fine rain.  I call the dogs back, and put them back in their 
beds, where they yawn and go back to sleep. Katie puts the finishing touches 
on her nest of shredded papers.

Night still drags at me, but I'm up now. I'll put on the coffee and read the 
paper, if the delivery guy hasn't tossed it into a puddle. I hear "Roosty" 
crowing, and a feebler sound, one of the young roosters trying out his voice.  
The ducks are discordant and rowdy this morning as they scramble through the 
puddles after the newly hatched tadpoles.The coffee smells good, and there's a 
handful of cherries left in the refrigerator. A good enough breakfast before I 
go out to the barn for morning chores.

It's the sort of morning for melancholy, of pausing in work to contemplate 
the feel of cool rain on my skin. I fill water pails from the trough, because 
there's something wrong with the well pump and no water comes through the hoses. 
I don't get angry, merely sigh and endure the wet jeans, soggy socks, one 
Jenny-killed sopping shoe, and the heavy task of hauling pails of water for the 
horses. Water trickles into my jacket, and there's a big puddle to navigate 
just outside the barn door.  No water from the well for the animals, but probably 
another four inches to come down as rain this day.

I have much to do today. I'll not see many folks, except for the man to fix 
the well pump, if he comes. There are people I miss. There are people I love 
who are too far away. I dig a trench to drain the water from in front of the 
barn door, feel the chill of the rain, and think of those people.


NancyLee