The Teacup That Heard the Rain

Rain ticked on the porch roof. It drummed on the doorstep.

Then Ola heard a tiny ting.

A drop had landed in the teacup beside her boot.

Ola moved the cup beneath the copper gutter.

Ting. Ting-ting.

She moved it a whisker to the left. Nothing.

She moved it back. There it was.

She sat down to listen.

The cup began to fill. Its little ringing sound grew round and soft.

Plip, said the rain.

'You have changed your voice,' Ola told it.

Soon the water reached the brim.

A drop slipped over the edge and ran toward her boot.

Ola lifted one foot.

The rain had invited the floor to join in.

Ola carried the cup to a thirsty-looking fern.

She tipped the water onto its soil, then brought the cup back.

Ting.

'There you are,' she said.

Aunt put a copper pan beside her.

The next drop made a broad, round pong.

Ola laughed. The cup sounded very small beside it.

Small was exactly right.

'Could I keep this afternoon?' Ola asked.

She put a saucer over the cup.

The rain tapped on the saucer instead.

Underneath, the cup was quiet.

The sky grew pale. The gutter slowed.

Ola waited with the cup in both paws.

One last drop trembled, fell, and was gone.

She waited a little longer anyway.

Inside, Aunt shook the water from her umbrella.

Ola tapped the cup with a wooden spoon.

Ting.

Her ears stood up. There was still something left of the afternoon.

She tried the pan. Pong.

She brushed her paws across a folded towel. Shhh.

Then she put the sounds together.

It wasn't the same rain. It was Ola's.

Aunt sat on the doorstep. A neighbor stopped to listen.

Ola played a quick shower, then a slow one.

Aunt tapped her boot after the very last ting.

That part was new.

At bedtime, Ola put the cup on the windowsill.

She left it empty.

The sky held a thin silver cloud.

Tomorrow might have a different sound.