Spring Rain

The rain comes down softly, in small droplets.  Each droplet soon dissapears on trees branches, roofs of buildings, in animal fur, or into the snow.  With every droplet that hits the snow, the snow is reduced.  Only reduced a bit, but still going away.

It is the first of February.  I sit at the computer having just returned from feeding my horse.  The gate was wet.  I wiped it off and shook it to get rid of the most water before climbing over.  Yes, I climb gates.  I know I shouldn't, but I do.  My horse was waiting for me at the gate, with nary a noise of greeting.  I preformed my routine of petting her, then traveled the last thirty or so feet to the barn. 

The little gadget we use as a lock for the hay door was not very wet, being slightly under the eaves.  I stepped inside, then grabbed Rosie's hay.  I fed her, then returned to the warm indoors, whereupon I sat myself down and typed out this thing.  All in an effort to say that it's raining, and it's not winter rain, it's spring rain.