Dear Lizzie...(14)

Dear Lizzie,
I was painting last night, and I was alone in the house. The light was dim as the storm moved in, and where "Evening Twilight" met "Chocolate Brown" the rain drops started to fall. The traffic had stopped on the street just north of the house, and so I had the noises just the way I liked them; timeless. Who can say what year it is when drops of life hit the roof, riddle the dry soil, and spatter off leaves? The gentle rumble, staccato beats and pings - a soothing rhythm.
I can imagine your family, after a hard day of farming, rushing in as the first pelting began. What a relief from the hot summer sun. As the water plunged down, you would need to light candles. Windows open just a bit, or a door halfway, would offer a welcome cool breeze.
I love the summer rains, Lizzie. A gentle, all day rain is my favorite. We are so dry right now, and need a true toad soaker to make a difference. It's been a weird spring.
Dad still farms this place, though you would hardly recognize it now. We are trying our hand at a garden this year, our first solo attempt. There is some corn planted just east of the barn, but it better rain or it isn't going to make it.
I marvel at how hard your life was. Lack of rain is inconvenient  for me. For you, it could mean the difference between enough to eat, or not.
After the rain stopped I went out to feed the cats. They aren't tame. Since no one has lived here in nearly a year they only come near humans to be fed. I sat near, and one let me put my hand on her head, but only briefly. I am like the black one in the back - wanting what she needs, but wary and unsure, unable to trust.
I would love to see what you thought of my color choices, Lizzie. I suppose you didn't have much option in your day. I wonder what you would have picked, if it had been possible.
Yours Truly,
Charity