And now for something completely different… it is pouring cats and dogs and has been since before sunrise. Huge thunderstorms have rocked the house, rain is coming down in sheets, and the swale in the field is a torrent of water.
The saturated ground cannot absorb any more moisture. I expect that the creek will flood.
I don’t know where the saying ‘raining cats and dogs’ came from. On a rainy day my dogs can sleep remarkably late compared to a sunny day when they HAVE to go outside asap, and even then, they must be pushed out the door. There is no lingering outside, checking out the smells around the barn, nor is there any venturing out to the field. No, it is a mad dash to get back to the house where they huddle against the door waiting for us to let them back inside.
Mine are not ‘outside’ dogs, tied to a chain all day. They know only comfort and ease. In fact, they are all asleep on cushions as I type this.
The sound of the rain on the windows was lulling me, no, luring me back to bed. Snuggling under the covers with a book seems like a really good idea. It still might happen, but I did motivate myself to get on the treadmill – no huge achievement though, it was only for 14 minutes (3/4 mile). Still, it’s better than nothing.
129 days till we are sailing in the Caribbean again. Which means that Christmas is just a few days more.
I’ve been drinking gallons of mint tea made from freshly picked leaves from the garden. It’s good hot, warm or cold. It is delightful! I think I must transplant some into a pot for inside this winter.
“I went to bed and woke in the middle of the night thinking I heard someone cry, thinking I myself was weeping, and I felt my face and it was dry.
Then I looked at the window and thought: Why, yes, it's just the rain, the rain, always the rain, and turned over, sadder still, and fumbled about for my dripping sleep and tried to slip it back on.”