Rainy Monday Morning Musings

There is no sun in this dawn hour; only rain born from yesterday’s thunderstorms. The rivers have been running low since the end of the snowmelt, and the forest and fields are parched. Local milkweed, the nectar of the butterflies, have been struggling to keep from curling. This weather will give new life to the smaller, damaged plants.

The summer scent of rainfall is a delight. Even now, as it falls through a soupy humid morning. Sitting here with tea and a bowl of equal parts wild Maine blueberries and oatmeal, the fragrance seduces me through an open window. I note that even the birds are sleeping in this morning. Not a single note, just the soft drumming on the leaves.

While I sip and eat and write, snores waft up from the floor. Samwise is less a fan of the rain than Emily. His head is buried beneath a meaty paw. Emily is curled between the two of us, sweet puffs of breath rising from her cat-curled body.

I witness this daily. As I wrote on Saturday, if they were humans, they’d b…