Who said one sleeps well to the sound of rain? It keeps knocking and knocking on the tin windowsill, as if saying, “Hey, I’ve arrived! I am washing windows, streets, benches. And if I have made a mess of mud — sorry about that.”
I brushed it off as best I could, asked it to be quiet, even tried to persuade it, but it keeps knocking and knocking. Washing and washing.
I wonder, have you ever thought that this monotonous tapping, like a metronome, sets the tempo of what is happening? And whether someone is running somewhere, or someone is not running anywhere at all, outside the window there is still the same rain, the same rhythm — dreary and provincial.
But rain is a good fellow! Perhaps it will wash away the sand scattered over the winter, which in dry weather turns into dust and sweeps along the roads in whirlwinds of local tornadoes?
The city has missed street sweepers and watering trucks so much))
But the rain will wash, the sun will dry, buds will appear on the miraculously preserved branches of miraculously preserved trees, and with bated breath we shall watch them slowly swell, change shades, and at last throw out their green banners of victory: “You cut us, cut us, choked us, choked us...”
And Irina Karakashidi will come out onto her street with the seedlings she has prepared since winter, in order once again, despite the difficulties and expenses, to create her floral masterpieces — little corners of joy. And summer residents will begin building their local paradise in their separate six-hundred-square-meter states. Or am I mistaken about the size? Alas, dachas never worked out for me.
But the other day, while soaking beans for bean soup, I secretly pushed a couple of beans into the pot with the geranium.
And one sprout shot up the very next morning and began rapidly catching up with the native inhabitant! Now I am waiting to see what will happen. Will it grow through to the neighbors and then breed roosters there, or will the bean bloom, the flower open, and inside — a little girl! Though no. The neighbors are too noisy as it is; roosters would be quite enough trouble. And all sorts of toads and May beetles would start courting the girl.
Better I should wind bean stems around the radiators and have bean jungles of my own.)))
Jungles? And then there is Mowgli... wolves, a snake, jackals, earthworms...
I did not think this through. They would have been better off cooking quietly in the soup, and no problems at all.
And the rain keeps knocking and knocking. Perhaps knocking at the door, perhaps complaining, perhaps giving a master class. How to knock.
Or perhaps simply lulling us — it is Sunday, after all; one may be lazy and run nowhere. Like that familiar line: “It is time to run, but there is nowhere to go.”
Still, good morning to everyone!
Umbrellas and rubber boots for some, coffee in bed for others. To each their own. What do you choose?
