It's been raining since dawn, and we've had over 1/2" of the strange, unseasonal wet stuff so far today. The tall golden grasses are heavy and hanging low over the edges of the driveway, The firs and willows are still this morning, the normal soft laughter of the wind making way for a velvet song of rain falling on roof, bough, and garden instead. Cats lounge under cover rather than hunt, with a sense of patience and restfulness. They know the sun will come out again soon enough.
The bare soil between the weeds we call a yard is dark with moisture, and water stands in shiny puddles between clumps of dun colored grass and stumps of green thistle. The rock walls and borders look polished, as if for company. Miniature rivers make their joyful way down channels remaining from last winter's monsoons, all the raindrops before them having finally saturated the top layers of soil, leaving them but one happy choice. Water loves to flow down a hill, you know.
Tuck is begging for my attention. It's not enough to simply pet him just now. He doesn't want food, and he certainly doesn't care to go out. He's made his needs perfectly clear - a cuddle on the bed.
On a rainy day like this, what else can one do?
