Porch Music

A light rain may disturb the calm of the pond's reflected strand of poplars this morning but not the peeping tree frogs. A whistling bark begun by one is answered by another then another becoming for a moment a symphony. The abruptness of their ending note always seems somehow orchestrated.  As if an unseen conductor decided at that very moment to return us to the more gentle harmonics of rain drumming the surface of the pond.

Drumming too, the metal roof of the porch. Porch, pavilion, portico; however the eave may be extended into word or space the dry view of a wet world has been a treasure from cave to palace.  Some say our most distant ancestors left their wet world for land. I wonder if a few turned back, longing for the limbless, finned life of the ocean. Standing on the porch, occupied by these watery thoughts of primordial days I think of enormous schools of fish and gigantic squid.  I think alligator.  I think Nessie of the Loch.

Scottish Nessie of the Loch brings to mind a scone filled with double cream. Then I think another cup of tea would be the very thing on this cooled down damp September morning.  And in passing through the eaved world between worlds into the dry of the kitchen I am restored entirely to my 21st century human life.

Green tea or another cup of black?