Rainy Nights

As a young boy during WWII I slept on a veranda room under the galvanised iron roof of my grandparent’s home in Hawthorne. When it rained, the sound of the drumming of raindrops on the roof would waken me up and I would lie there thinking about the bombings over Britain and what the civilians were suffering while the rain became heavier and the noise louder.

I recall this because over the last month my sleep has been disturbed by a pitter-patter dreamy niggles, building up to a crescendo of thoughts that force me fully awake. The benefit is that while lying in bed my mind at first meditates and then gets very active so sometimes I don’t get back to sleep for the remainder of the nighttime hours. I think about the things I still wish to do and what I and keen to write; also the bucket list of adventures still not addressed; then how the family could plan for the time after my departure with the implications of new will  and/or the responsibilities my children and grandchildren might take on as a legacy.

When I arrive at some really important ideas, some special things that should happen, I get up to sit at my desk and jot down lists, key words, and brief notes, so the following morning I can fill them out more fully. I find it all intellectually and emotionally rewarding and don’t appear to suffer from the lack of a longer, deeper sleep.

It is mystifying how it occurs night after night, but I have been so stimulated over these last two weeks on an excellent palliative care regime, that I love what is happening and am thoroughly thankful for this ‘rain soon the roof‘.


About rpsimson1936

Retired geography and outdoor education teacher who loves orienteering and writes novels.
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