If I make bold enough to say that the sound of dripping water is music to my ears, all my fellow bloggers with yen for nature and a thirst for earth conservation, would rise up – armed with mighty pens and harsh words, and the chatter of their fingers hitting at the keys would rise in crescendo until their feelings had been posted – en masse on WordPress.
But I’ll make bold and hold my ground, although many of you may contend that my words don’t hold water.
At work I have a little aquarium, with one nasty Gourami who has survived after battling scores of others. Tyrant he may have been, but like me he is a recluse, seeking the solitude of quite places where only the soothing sounds of nature offer their peace. I never realized it until one afternoon when the water filtration and aeration system gave up. While the poor gourami gurgled for air, the silence without the sound of water dripping into the tank was deafening. I couldn’t take it any longer. The office was suddenly deathly in its silence and the poor fish continued to struggle in a hitherto friendly environment that had suddenly turned hostile.
I panicked, desperately trying to get my fishy friend to a place of relative safety – but where?
The answer lay in resurrecting that otherwise insignificant sound of dripping water. I frantically called in reinforcements, pulled out cables, cut off the power, washed out the filters, checked the cables and switched on the power.
Drip..drip… drip.. I heaved a sigh of relief, sweat dripping down my brow. I was at peace and so was the fish, swimming around happily again.
But only here at my work desk does this sound hold any appeal… nowhere else will I tolerate the sound of dripping water, even though it means nasty work, fixing those drips again and again.