The mud pond which my front porch overlooks is framed by forest. At night the only light around is under the complete control of the switches in my living room. Tonight: outside, looking for the mud pond, it was hidden against the backdrop of a cloudy sky; the rain white noise against the black night. But inside: there was something was soothing about the pounding of water on the corrugated roof of my little house. Depending upon the wind and due in part to the dropped composite ceiling, the sound of the rain rushing to meet its end would range from television static to a dulled yet pronounced thud. It wasn’t single drops I heard; the rain seemed to be an entire entity greater than the individual fragments that gave it its whispered voice.
I reposed on the smooth hospital-cornered linens that wrapped my bed, actively listening to the crescendos of the ambient symphony that played above my head. Beyond the mosquito net roof through what may well be lead based paint and asbestos, I shut off iTunes for the first time in the entire day, closed my eyes and reveled in the chorus of the battle of water versus metal. And my mind wandered to the future, but just the next day.
That I’d have to sort out the documentation for receiving goods at remote sites.
That I’d promised some buddies from the Winning Post that I’d get some nyoma choma.
That I’d have to wear my boots tomorrow to trudge through the thick Mars-maroon colored mud that would accumulate in the path. But I was happy even to trudge. This week I had completed the foundation for the house I have been tasked to build. In the coming weeks, I will begin constructing the stairs to get myself out of the basement.