After quite a few sunny days, the rain returned with fresh supplies of water steadily poured throughout the day for gradual, reliable and rather in-depth soaking of everything in sight. It kept working hours for most of the week, settling itself to thin but determined drizzling from morning until evening and then going promptly away just in time for the sun to show just how lovely the day could have been - if only it wasn't already time to call it a night. So I took a few roses indoors and settled in for games and assorted nourishing activities:

This old rain that is so typical here, methodical and set in its ways fits this poor soil quite perfectly - any faster and it wouldn't go through, any less and the grass already starts yellowing of thirst. It's perhaps still myself not quite fitting either soil or water at times, for having grown up with different rains on different soil and under different skies. But I never fitted those "other" all that well either and I doubt there's much sense in looking for whatever perfect fit one might hallucinate at times. Fits and differences aside, what remains seemingly always and everywhere the same though is the temporary absence of buzzing among the flowers, the freshness of rain-washed colours, the brighter sunlight for all its reflection in the tiny drops of water everywhere and the fruit growing and ripening to burst seemingly under your eyes - it's green and strongly attached to its own roots and twigs today but blink away and it turned already dark red, coming off easily, ready to go away, whether picked up or not. Ready also, some of it at least, to nourish another plant or animal or soil as it might happen:

Category: Lyf

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