The poetry of falling rain

The tiny lady woke at three this morning and I made a quick decision (heavily influenced by sleep) to tuck her into bed with me; we drifted off together snug and safe. The next morning she woke up and, curiously for her, was very quiet and calm. She stared at the window, a look of fierce concentration on her face. My husband realised she was listening to the rain. Irish readers will know we have been hit by even more miserable weather but today we actually enjoyed the heavy pitter patter at the window. It was one of the most beautiful moments I’ve had as a mother; watching my little girl in hushed stillness just be mesmerised by the sound of rain drops. After a few moments she closed her eyes. We watched her totally in awe of this precious experience. Every so often she would open her eyes and smile at us before closing them again. We closed our eyes too and passed the most peaceful half hour our little family has had in a long time- toddlers are not known for their introspective moments. Today, however, my little girl enjoyed just living the poetry of rain.

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