Sunday, November 02, 2008

...came tapping, tapping at my chamber...

The Homeowners Association for our complex engaged contractors to re-roof all the buildings. No longer flat, pitch and gravel as of old, the new are still flat but with a slight slant (or pitch?) and are some form of metal. Truly the roof will remain long after the building in which we live has gone to dust.

Still, the metal will keep out the damp and reduce the incidence of dry rot - something that has plagued a number of the residents.

And keep out the rain it does. Because of the slant there is no more standing water. It, rather, runs to strategically located drain-pipes through which it falls from one raised area to another. Channeled, collected, controlled.

"Falls" - ah, yes. There's the rub. The drain-pipes are metal. To quote Tolstoy in the latest translation of "War and Peace" - "Drops dripped". The Russian phrase, "kappli, kappali", has the happy accident of sounding like the action being described. And, in another happy accident, the English translation (from the latest by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky) has the same brevity and sound quality.

And the sound is the thing. One of these drain-pipes is located near our bedroom. The steady and insistent dripping of drops can be heard clearly - but only from our bed. Water hitting metal, drop by drop, all night.

And the clocks went back and hour. So, a longer night.

Don't you just love it when all your blessings come together?

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