I’ve got to put my foot down with our choir director so we stop singing the “Rain Song”. It’s a great melody, and the lyrics are cleverly syncopated and percussive, like rain drops.
We’ve been singing the song weekly. Much more than rain drops have been drawn to our part of the world, more of a deluge in the last while. I’m starting to feel that all this precipitation is like a guest who’s overstayed his welcome.
Sadly, I got phone calls through the afternoon from my Monday night students, all cancelling, because the roads are too bad to travel to Mitchells Island from the next suburb, Old Bar. Fair enough. I doubt I would go out on a soggy dog of a night like tonight.
This is rural life. We are more at the mercy of Nature than city dwellers. There have been recent flood warnings put out for the Manning Valley, so it could be a dangerous time. A few years ago, we were cut off for a day or two when the roads were under water, but it wasn’t long before the flooding receded.
I have Elly Franchimont’s beautiful tune going through my head:
Beautiful Rain, washing all around, all of Nature grows.
Beautiful Rain, water falls with grace, rivers overflow.
I really must wash that song right out of my mind!