I had to learn how to podcast for my new job. After about five hours of flailing about, I finally published one. Here’s me reading Sara Teasdale’s “There Will Come Soft Rains.”

It’s a great poem, but I’ll always associate it with Ray Bradbury. In one of the short stories from The Martian Chronicles, Bradbury set Teasdale’s poem — about the fact that nature wouldn’t notice the absence of the human race — against the backdrop of nuclear anhilation. It’s quite chilling.

In the living room the voice-clock sang, Tick-tock, seven o’clock, time to get up, time to get up, seven o’clock! as if it were afraid nobody would. The morning house lay empty. The clock ticked on, repeating and repeating its sounds into the emptiness. Seven-nine, breakfast time, seven-nine! …