In The House Of Tom Bombadil

Michael and I were on our covered porch reading today when the clouds first rolled in. As the rain around us poured harder (and the air blew colder), I found it delightfully serendipitous that this was the exact passage I was reading–
“As they looked out of the window there came falling gently as if it was flowing down the rain out of the sky, the clear voice of Goldberry singing up above them. They could hear few words, but it seemed plain to them that the song was a rain-song, as sweet as showers on dry hills, that told the tale of a river from the spring in the highlands to the Sea far below. The hobbits listened with delight; and Frodo was glad in his heart, and blessed the kindly weather, because it delayed them from departing.
The upper wind settled in the West and deeper and wetter clouds rolled up to spill their laden rain on the bare heads of the Downs. Nothing could be seen all round the house but falling water. Frodo stood near the open door and watched the white chalky path turn into a little river of milk and go bubbling away down into the valley. Tom Bombadil came trotting round the corner of the house.
‘This is Goldberry’s washing day,’ he said, ‘and her autumn-cleaning.'”