Overcast and cool. Last night’s storm has left the Japanese stiltgrass sprawled this way and that, its stalks just beginning to turn red.
After a soggy night, a few more raindrops and then some brightening. A vireo starts up. The lowest branch on the tulip tree has turned yellow.
Leaves glistening with last night’s rain. A distant raven. The puttering of a hummingbird’s small motor.
Another brief shower as the sun almost breaks through. A wood pewee answers his own question. I count the yellowing bracken fronds in my yard.
It’s raining and I’m mesmerized by the radar map, its blue and purple blobs. When the downpour begins to abate, the first thing I hear is the twittering of goldfinches.
Drizzle in the wind even as the sky brightens. Small patches of blue appear and disappear. A yellow leaf spirals down into the yard.
Showers intermittent as stragglers in a race. This morning’s porch may stretch into the afternoon, as long as my claps keep up with the mosquitoes.
Sunrise thunderstorm: the sky darkening just when you least expect it, then the downpour and all the leaves of grass nodding like headbangers as the thunder booms.
A ten-minute shower unmentioned in the forecast. The sky brightens. A tiny white moth circles the yard.
Rain. A groundhog rummages loudly under the porch. A bumblebee moves to the bright side of a porch column to dry her wings.
My surprise at a rainy morning is only exceeded by my surprise at having nearly slept through it, a gauzy drizzle just beginning to shine.
The soft noise of steady rain; birdcalls sound half-submerged. I watch wisps of cloud drift through the yard.
The rains continue. The last peony blossom collapsed in the night, and the last purple iris has opened. Where mowed grass had died, there’s a blush of green.
Rain! That unfamiliar whisper rising to the level of a murmur. And a Carolina wren rushing about, making sure the world knows.