Conversation

It sounded like rain but it was not. This was in the time after the freezing rain had ended. The dog and I walked the streets, listening to winter singing. Wherever there was a tree, a percussive overture was in bloom. I thought it was rain, still falling, but it was not. It was the trees themselves, shedding frozen water droplets from silverly branches. The droplets hit the ice-layered snow below with a sharp ping, like a percussionist ending a solo with a slow roll of rhythm. #smallstories