Serious Storm Series

From the time we came down for breakfast, when the sky darkened, thunder clapped and finally concluded with a massive downpour, the tenor of the day was set. One of a succession of determined thunderstorms following closely on each inexorable wave.

Our leisurely breakfast was punctuated by the thrill of loud claps, electrically-charged air.
A very cozy arrangement indeed; we enjoying breakfast, perusing the papers, exchanging views on news items, and outside rain thumped on the windows of the house, sending streamers of rain criss-crossing the glass.

Under the canopy of our newly-installed gazebo, where sits the two-seater glider, the deck remains stolidly dry, while all around water drips and drains and glistens as it splurges and splats onto all exposed surfaces.

Further drenching the growing things that had just begun, after one isolated rain-free day yesterday, to dry out and absorb the beneficent rays of the sun. Now they're once again utterly sodden and collapsed.

I grabbed my camera wanting to see if I could capture the sheer volume of rain pelting down, but my attempts were not quite as successful as I'd have liked them to be. Also took photos of the garden from the dining room windows, those with the almost-completed floral shutters so that one sees gardens within and without, echoes of which enhance our ambiance in the winter months.

There was one brief, promising interlude around two in the afternoon when the weather relented and we set off for the ravine with our little dogs game to see whether we might complete a circuit before having to return to shelter. In fact, we were fortunate indeed; although the sky remained aquarium-cast, while we cruised the ravine trails the rain held off.

The creek presented an amazing rush of tumbling, moiling, mud-filled water, loudly cascading its way downward on its journey to join much larger waterways. Those minuscule black tormentors were out in full force, lustful for our tender flesh, plaguing us the entire trek, unmindful of our ability to wreak final revenge, leaving their blood-filled bodies splattered, their biological imperative unfulfilled.

Drenched green leafery appeared bright and luminous against the sodden black tree trunks. Mist rose in the distance, from the roiling creek to the upper reaches of the ascending trail. This time we were able to sight the flycatcher we had only heard yesterday, its long, slender beak and neat little figure close by on the top of a dead tree. Robins celebrated new opportunities to pull worms out of their desperate state of escape from the overwhelmed soil.

Sumacs have begun to erect their stately candles, yellow as yet, but soon to be flaming orange-red. Ragweed is now making its appearance, the fragrance of the tiny white floral tendrils beautiful, but not to the hordes of ragweed-pollen sufferers, of whom we are not numbered. A rufus-coloured rabbit swiftly crosses the trail twenty feet in front of us; our little dogs snuffling along, noticing nothing.