With Apologies to Jacques Prévert and Johnny Mercer

Lord, it do rain! The Twin Cities is on the eastern edge of Minnesota--
the Mississippi, not the Missouri River side--and we are not far north,
but what is south of us, in the State, has received about ten inches of rain.
Even so, we have not hesitated to take our share of water.

We noticed a little puddle of water on a lower floor window sill.
(Isn't that always a heartwarming sight?) A wet-foot and umbrella
inspection showed that the gutter two stories up was running over.
I made a guess: leaves. Autumn leaves. The kind that drift by
the window, red and gold, since you went away, when I miss you
most of all, when autumn leaves start to fall. Soon: old winter's song!

Nothing for it! I put on my rain jacket, got out the ladder,
uncoiled a long rope as if I were a mountain climber, armed myself
with a narrow-bladed hoe, and went up onto the roof. In the rain.

There is something completely absurd about a 78-year-old
with one bad eye and a fear of heights standing up on the roof,
in the rain, dragging leaves away from the down spout.
It is not just falling leaves that drift by the window, I thought.

"I have an appointment with the doctor this afternoon,
anyway," I thought. Mari can explain about the drip.

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