As I drifted off to sleep Tuesday night, a foreign sound started rustling in the distance, a whisper that grew stronger and smoother until steady beats plunked the window like a marimba. First thought: murderous intruder? Second thought: rain! Did you get one, too? A glorious shower to sleep by? After the prolonged dry spell Tampa Bay has endured, hearing such a cozy cascade feels uncanny, doesn’t it? Like bumping into a friend you haven’t seen since junior high, void of pimples.