Spring drops
I am an original citizen, but I do not live in a large multi-storey building, but in a house with only one floor. Our whole street consists entirely of such houses. They are buried in the green of fruit trees. In the spring, when the gardens are in bloom, it seems that snow-white fragrant clouds have fallen on the trees. Apparently, that’s why our street is called Sadovaya. Flowering of trees is a riot of spring. About her arrival, she loudly declares a drop. Residents of high-rise buildings can not hear the music of the drip. But in my house there is no such room, where the sounds of a drop can not penetrate the sun’s rays. Drops from the snow and icicles melting on the roof, falling down, knock out a fraction on the wooden steps of the porch, on the bench under the windows of the house, over the metal platband in the window opening. They dance on the surface of the water, which is filled with an iron barrel under a drainpipe. These drops helped me to surprise my friends
One evening, we were sitting with my classmates Sasha and Misha at the computer – they were playing. We talked about our hobbies. Sasha said that he made a snake, which will soon be launched. Misha made a model of the ship, promised to show it to us. And I said: “Do you want me to make cymbals in a few minutes?” It’s such a musical instrument, the strings of which must be struck with special hammers to extract sound. “
I, of course, did not believe. The next day the guys gathered at my house to see how I would keep my word. I was lucky: after dinner the sun came out and waking up. I took out and put on a bench under the window of the house a zinc trough, turned it upside down. Next to the bench, as well, upside down put a few buckets. Drops unevenly broke from the roof and hit, like the hammers of cymbals, over the surface of trough and buckets. The sounds alternated rhythmically. That sonorous, then deaf, then too loud, then quiet, the sounds began to sound in the yard. Sometimes, the drops froze, and then, as if recollecting, brought out the melody with redoubled speed.
The guys were amazed.
“A real melody,” said Sasha.
“That’s just what it is about?” asked Misha.
“And let each one hear his own in it,” I said softly.
The main thing is that this melody promised fast warmth, swelling of buds in the trees, the arrival of birds, and, of course, the flowering of fruit trees. After all, we live on the street Sadovaya.
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