Rain suddenly started plummeting around me as I walked down the Main Street. I jumped quickly under an awning but I was already soaked through.
I was cold, wet through and not sure where I could go when I heard the noise of people from an open door across the street.
It looked like a bar, there was a lyre and guitar shaped piece of metal on the wall. It looked like the best place that I could go to warm up. I ran as quick as I could across the street, getting even wetter than I had before, and went in through the door.
Inside it was thankfully warm with an open fire on one side and a stage on the other. I headed straight to the bar to order a hot whiskey and took an empty chair as close to the fire as I could get. With luck, I aimed to dry myself within an hour.
As I let the heat of the flames soak into me there was some commotion as a man with a drum kit came onto the stage and set his equipment up. He then started to brush the skins of the drum with a light stick. Ratatatataata. It sounded familiar to me, I couldn’t quite place it.
There was a flash from behind us, I thought it was someone taking a photograph of the performance. Suddenly he changed tempo, hitting a low note, as if on cue, there was a deep rumble from outside, the sound of thunder. When he then went back to brushing the skins I finally realized, he was playing along to the the rain.
It was remarkable. The drummer kept tempo with the pitter-patter of rain drops coming in from outside, punctuating it with deeper resonances when there was the sound of thunder.
He kept it going for so long that by the time my clothes were bone-dry, I didn’t notice, by then, I was transfixed by the sound of a true artist communing with the sounds of the outside world. It was the first time I was ever glad to have been rained on.
Image from WikiCommons taken by Vysotsky and used under the Creative Commons Agreement
Written for the Light and Shade challenge for Wednesday May the Sixth