Rain, rain, rain....

One thinks of April as being the northern month of springtime rains, but here we are in the middling pages of May with heavy cloud and rain cloaking the village and more of the same "in the cards" for the next several days.  So much for planned rambles in the woods with Himself and Spencer...

We are weeks behind where we usually are at this time of the year, no columbines or wild yellow orchids in bloom in the woods, local trees still laboring mightily to leaf out themselves out for summer.  There are a few early irises out in the garden, all rain spattered and velvety, but our vegetable plots seem forlorn as they wait for us to seed them lavishly and with hopes for a good harvest later this year.

Woe betide us, the black flies are out and about in dense biting clouds, and we're a mite chewed this morning, having spent a few hours yesterday poking about in hedgerows - there is nothing the local gnattery like better than a fine soggy day and warm blooded entities to munch on.

What is a little precipitation, after all?  There are flowers in a south facing window, and before long there will be freshly baked bread and cookies (gluten free of course). Tea and crafty books await, along with the piano sonatas of Scarlatti, the soaring vocal harmonies of the Mediaeval Baebes and the Sibyl of the Rhine.  The rain beyond the windows is a pleasing rhythm section, keeping its own natural time like a mantle clock or my banged up old metronome.  It's all good.  I really should design a a tee-shirt with those words on it.  This is another one of those mornings when I need a reminder.