Comfort Sounds

The Library is deserted this morning. Many staff were here late last night (as was I) and will come in mid-morning. A number of staff are out to attend the funeral for Sarah's Dad. Some are ill, others working the late shift. My day to open, so I arrive at 7:30 to turn on lights, unlock doors, etc. Its rainy and cold outside, a miserable day even for ducks. Our community patron who is here faithfully every morning to catch the morning paper and coffee has declined to poke his nose out. The cafe opens late, and no one cares. The downstairs fireplace is not working, the grounds crew have yet to clear the slush from the sidewalks. A dreay day at best.

I take my time getting the cash drawer open, logging in the D&C, the Wall Street Journal, USA Today. I do not hurry to enable the handicap door and take the gate count. Its plant watering day, and even the philodendron are droopy this morning. It is a quiet, unhurried day. I see students slogging across campus from Garlock Dining Hall, hoods up, heads down. No one stops in here.

The Circ Supervisor arrives, umbrella dripping, and frees me from desk duty. I tell her I will be in my office, but I do not go there. Halfway to the reference desk I hear the sound of water dripping, splashing. Do we have a leak? I go to investigate. By the newspaper reading area, the rain is hitting against the windows that form the wall overlooking the parking lot. The water congregates on the window frame and falls with a plunk plunk onto the copper ledge below.

It is the same musically rhythmic sound I remember from summer camp when we were captives in the steel bunkhouse on rainy afternoons. We would lie on our beds reading to the comforting sound of rain drumming on the metal roof overhead as we stayed warm and cozy inside. You don't hear that sound often these days, what with tar roofing tiles and intentional space between you and the roof.

This Lent we are thinking about slowing down, taking time to be quiet, listening for the voice of God in a hectic world. I sit in the overstuffed red leather armchair by the window and gaze across the parking lot to the street and the houses surrounding campus. I gaze with interest at the few hearty souls struggling their way out of cars and into the mist of day.

I listen to the rain dancing on the copper, I lean back and close my eyes and breathe deeply, exhaling slowly, savoring the moment and the memories. Its good to start the day quietly.