I lay perched on my twin-size foam mattress in the space hollowed out by the weight of my body after almost two years of intermittent use. The mosquito tent is tucked snugly into the edges of the frame protecting me from vicious predators in the black of night. The 3 a.m. rains begin and I think about that sound. Frosty French fries dunked in hot oil…that first frenzied dip soon settles into a lower pitched boil. The rain sounds like that…that frenzy. The corrugated iron sheets send the liquid weather about a foot away from the house where dimples form like a skirt around the foundation. The sound of a hungry tummy rumbles low in the distance. A rooster crows.
