Rain Cabinet — Oversized Tee

The rain begins while you are carrying the washing in. You rescue most of it, lose a sock behind the basket, and stand in the doorway for a moment enjoying a smell that appears to have arrived before the weather itself. The warm pavement is darkening in patches. Somewhere close by, a drain has acquired a solo.

You should finish what you were doing. Instead you put the basket down and open the kitchen window a little farther. The room changes its sound. A saucepan receives one very clear drop from somewhere it ought not to, then another. You move it beneath the small leak and listen to the difference. The house has added percussion without consulting you.

Your friend calls from the dry side of town. They ask if this is a bad time. You say it is rather a good one, provided they do not need you to move the phone away from the window. For a while you tell each other what you can hear. A bus, a bird that has not accepted the situation, the saucepan developing a more confident rhythm. Your friend opens their own window. Nothing happens there yet. They sound faintly cheated.

By the time the rain reaches them, yours is easing. You stay on the call and listen to the afternoon arrive in a different room. The washing is still in the basket. The lost sock is visible now, lying on the one perfectly dry patch of floor. You leave it there until your friend has finished telling you about their drain.

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