It has been a hot, dry summer. I have lost patience with hand watering the shrubbery and flower beds. I have let the parsley frizzle in the herb plot and the rootbound mint wither in its terracotta pot. Only the basil receives the care it deserves. I find work to do in the shade of air conditioning. A volunteer cherry tomato vine flourishes between unkempt cracks of flagstones on the hillside beside the house, defying brassy skies and gifting my neglect with small globes of sweet red fruit. Every now and then, I give it a splash of water from the hose in gratitude.
The tail-end of August brings us a respite of showers, and despite the tropic weight of air that can make even a mosquito sweat, I am glad. The grass is green. The young birch in the back garden has ceased scattering handfuls of yellow leaves on the lawn. The delicate impatiens spilling artfully from its broken pot no longer swoons in the late afternoon sun.
Fungus grows in unexpected places.
Rain diamonds collect on gossamer strands of web.
Hence, I am not in accord with the weathermongers who, after only a handful of days of intermittent rainfall are already singing the tune they suppose we all wish to hear: rain, rain go away, come again some other day...
I and my tree fairy are quite content with gray skies and raindrops on the windows.