Photo by W. Carter
…has been sun, rain, sun, rain, sun, hail, sun, more rain. And did I mention wind? La Nina takes her revenge? Brooding clouds drifting over the roof of our new house, passing, passing, and then a downpour that shakes the leaves of the purple blooming azalea, that make even greener the foliage of the hydrangea not yet in bud. I can hear the rain on the roof now, downpour, after a day of living, simply being. Everything from the dentist before breakfast to sorting through old photographs while vegetable soup simmers on the stove. A blue lupine sits in a pot in the garden, waiting to find its final resting place while four vivid orange and yellow tulips are in a clay pot by the front, hobbit door.
There are raindrops on the window, blown through the screen where I sit watching my reflection, watching the blue-white of this half-day, half-night sky. It does feel like a cold, wet Hawaiian island. Even the sounds out there right now are the wild windward shore winds and downpour on the fronds of a palm.
The Feast of Love, based on Charles Baxter’s wonderful novel, and set in Portland, not far from our house is now on the DVD. Great way to spend a rainy evening…