Water, water, everywhere
Yesterday the lightning flashed, a jagged streak across the grey sky; I counted … one, two, three, four, five … the thunder crashed, reverberating across the town like an explosion of dynamite ripping the land apart. The heavens opened and our town was awash. The streets were running red, stained with the red dirt that mixed indiscriminatingly with the water that fell from the clouds. It was a welcome sound.
Until … I was in the kitchen preparing tuna patties for the evening meal when a drip dropped on my elbow. I moved to the left. Another hit me on the left shoulder. Leaks were appearing. I knew about one, but not the other. I also knew water ran down the wall between the kitchen to the passageway that leads outdoors. The lightning and thunder continued. Rain beat upon the tin roof and found its way through less obvious apertures.
When I stumble downstairs in the morning and walk along the darkened passageway to the kitchen door, should I chance to glance upwards the southern skies are visible through gaps in the roofing iron. I must add these views are only obtainable when the manhole is left open, for whatever reason … maintenance or other essential servicing. There is something rather basic about seeing the stars through a roof. It puts life into some type of perspective and keeps the ego firmly grounded.
A suggestion was made that it would be wise to prepare extra food, as the roads have been known to isolate our town. I added another can of tuna to the bowl and mixed in more mashed potatoes.
The sound of running water captured our attention and the boss came through to warn us not to walk in the corridor between the dining room and the stairs. I took a look. Her warning was valid as there was a small waterfall raining down onto the slate floor and running in a determined manner towards the back corridor where another stream was bustling through the back door, and another in from the beer garden. Outside is higher than inside, and as we know, water quickly finds its own level. As I stood, elbows tucked in to avoid the splashes from the two drips that threatened to turn me into a dishrag, wet and bedraggled, my workmate and the boss tackled the rising waters with mops and buckets. One mopped the water from the beer garden towards a doorway and swished it onto an already wet street. The other mopped, squeezed, and mopped again. They did win that battle. After my preparations I mopped the kitchen floor … a daily chore, adding substantially to the water level in my bucket from the lake that formed under the bench. Two people booked in. The road to a mine site was impassable. Maybe there would be additional guests.
Upstairs once again I opened my balcony doors to watch parents collecting their children from school in motor vehicles. They drove through the water that sloshed spectacularly in a perfect vee formation. Some children chose to walk, their saturated yellow tops and green shorts clinging to their skin. Children not wearing shoes splashed joyfully through the water.
The thunder quieted and the lightning disappeared. In the distance a little strip of blue sky spread across the heavens and fluffy white clouds moved towards us. The sun came out and the wind dropped, the bird song is again audible, and the gutters are still running red.
I wonder if the little brownish green frog that resides in the overflow pipe of the mauve hand-basin in my bathroom will move to a country abode. Frogs and fishes in this part of the world go into inanimate hibernation during a long dry spell. When the rains come, a month, a year or even longer, later, they burst into life, mating, laying eggs, in a frantic attempt to reproduce the species. I think the little frog, the one that peers inquisitively at me when I brush my teeth, deserves a little Life.
Until … I was in the kitchen preparing tuna patties for the evening meal when a drip dropped on my elbow. I moved to the left. Another hit me on the left shoulder. Leaks were appearing. I knew about one, but not the other. I also knew water ran down the wall between the kitchen to the passageway that leads outdoors. The lightning and thunder continued. Rain beat upon the tin roof and found its way through less obvious apertures.
When I stumble downstairs in the morning and walk along the darkened passageway to the kitchen door, should I chance to glance upwards the southern skies are visible through gaps in the roofing iron. I must add these views are only obtainable when the manhole is left open, for whatever reason … maintenance or other essential servicing. There is something rather basic about seeing the stars through a roof. It puts life into some type of perspective and keeps the ego firmly grounded.
A suggestion was made that it would be wise to prepare extra food, as the roads have been known to isolate our town. I added another can of tuna to the bowl and mixed in more mashed potatoes.
The sound of running water captured our attention and the boss came through to warn us not to walk in the corridor between the dining room and the stairs. I took a look. Her warning was valid as there was a small waterfall raining down onto the slate floor and running in a determined manner towards the back corridor where another stream was bustling through the back door, and another in from the beer garden. Outside is higher than inside, and as we know, water quickly finds its own level. As I stood, elbows tucked in to avoid the splashes from the two drips that threatened to turn me into a dishrag, wet and bedraggled, my workmate and the boss tackled the rising waters with mops and buckets. One mopped the water from the beer garden towards a doorway and swished it onto an already wet street. The other mopped, squeezed, and mopped again. They did win that battle. After my preparations I mopped the kitchen floor … a daily chore, adding substantially to the water level in my bucket from the lake that formed under the bench. Two people booked in. The road to a mine site was impassable. Maybe there would be additional guests.
Upstairs once again I opened my balcony doors to watch parents collecting their children from school in motor vehicles. They drove through the water that sloshed spectacularly in a perfect vee formation. Some children chose to walk, their saturated yellow tops and green shorts clinging to their skin. Children not wearing shoes splashed joyfully through the water.
The thunder quieted and the lightning disappeared. In the distance a little strip of blue sky spread across the heavens and fluffy white clouds moved towards us. The sun came out and the wind dropped, the bird song is again audible, and the gutters are still running red.
I wonder if the little brownish green frog that resides in the overflow pipe of the mauve hand-basin in my bathroom will move to a country abode. Frogs and fishes in this part of the world go into inanimate hibernation during a long dry spell. When the rains come, a month, a year or even longer, later, they burst into life, mating, laying eggs, in a frantic attempt to reproduce the species. I think the little frog, the one that peers inquisitively at me when I brush my teeth, deserves a little Life.
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