I CANNOT remember when it started to rain. I think it was the day before yesterday, but perhaps even the day before that. I do not imagine that it will ever stop. At night, the rain glugs continuously into the drain, which is not unmusical; but the metronomic drip from a leak in the gutter—or is it in the roof?—maddens.
Standing at the entrance to the barn at first light this morning, behind a sheet waterfall, the sparrows on the roof girder above me share the same blurry view. After some subdued communal chatter, they decide