Drip, drip, drip...

I made a fascinating discovery last night (or perhaps I should say la madrugada, or the early hours, if I'm keeping my Spanish at least mostly correct). Going downstairs to get a drink of water, I discovered that I love the sound of dripping faucets.
Fascinating, no?
Walking through the silence, I came into the kitchen to hear a slow, steady, drip, drip, drip. Or perhaps it was a splat, splat, splat. Or maybe even a frenzied tink, tink tink. It sounded so...alive. The dripping of the water seemed to tell a story to my tired, half-asleep mind. It sounded desolate, alone in the silence. Forgotten and forsaken. Just a steady, never wavering, drip, drip, drip.

It's amazing what a dripping faucet can tell you about itself.