…..it rained and rained and rained and rained and rained and rained and rained and rained and rained and rained–rained for days on end–but almost as soon as it stopped pouring dump-truckfuls of moisture from the leaden sky, a sound burst forth, a welcome sound after that unremorseful onslaught of precipitation and depression. The sound was a wren–singing loud, singing lustily, singing its little heart out–as though it was making a bold, instantaneous statement that it would take more than a monsoonish rain to break its spirit. And–sitting with a window partially open to celebrate the advent of dry fresh air–I drew inspiration from my picayune feathered friend. If that tiny fellow had to weather such a hellish downpour firsthand out in the elements and could then bounce back so quickly and so determinedly and so boastfully, then surely I could too, having faced considerably less daunting circumstances sitting inside a dry house with Delilah pontificating on the radio in the background. That little creature singing so beatifically to me out in a tree is not a mere bird; it is an angel sent to me by God…..
Fred's Soapbox 