Whenever it rained, my father would declare, "It's a great day for ducks." Good to know isn't it, that someone is happily paddling about as the rain sluices down.
Downspouts gurgle and purcolate. Wet windows waver like antique glass, and a thousand tiny squares in the window screen hold water droplets: abstract art, cross-stitched in silver threads.
P.S. My mind seemed determined to paint a chick instead of a duckling and I had to scrub out a couple areas and things got a bit muddy and murky. Just like a duck pond?
