The month begins with thunder. I shall never tire of thunderstorms.
When I left for the East two weeks ago our land was strangely spring-scorched. There was reason to fear a long, dry summer. But the rains began when I was gone, greening the garden and feeding the lawn. This morning I coaxed my push mower through high grass. It wasn’t happy.
Then the storm came, giving me time, however, to take down the laundry from the line. I brewed coffee and went to the front porch to listen and watch. You know, rain is most picturesque, it’s quite difficult to take a picture of rain.
Where do birds go during a downpour? The mother and baby robins didn’t retreat back to the nest. I saw a cardinal darting toward a maple tree. Perhaps they’ve transformed my woodland pile of brush into bird apartments. Out by the garage I came upon a toad who, like me, was just sitting out the storm.
There were umbrellas nearby but he opted to get wet. Now as I type, I hear another series of thunderings. Perhaps we’ll be serenaded until dinner time.
The lawn mower is in its place in the garage. Just wait until tomorrow, fellow.