Monday, November 09, 2009

Didn't it rain...

It wasn't so bad at first, spent the day creatively faffing, doing nice bits of snail mail, cooked a proper Sunday lunch, played with photos, it stopped long enough for a very quick walk with Mol.  But when it rains stair rods and blows a hoolie, and night falls I start searching around for things to worry about.

It was blowing from the north, unusually, so I couldn't worry about it driving through the cracks between the front windows.  Victor's cut his most dangerously leaning trees opposite down and anyway, it would have blown them down the other way.  Then I remembered my sunroof in the car leaks.  I realised this on Saturday, opened it, wiped around it and screwed it down extra tight, but surely on the morrow my car would be a fishtank... I looked up 'leaking sunroof' on Google, and Saxo came just a few down the list after Renault Clio.  I found the remarkable 'Saxperience' site, and was instantly cheered by the apparent fact that I have unwittingly acquired something of a cult motor, and by blokey banter on the forum about parts, big screwdrivers and silicone mastic.

So I dozed off at bedtime quite peacefully, only to be awoken by an almighty clatter of rain on the back velux, which in my state of threshold rapid eye movement, I was convinced was Molly falling down the stairs.  Which did happen once when we were staying in a gite with a steep open staircase.

Failing actual reasons to worry relating to my own life, I find I myself distressing myself about the poor wild little things that have to live outside in such weathers.  And what will the robin do then, poor thing?  Even the plants and flowers do not escape my anxiety.





But then I woke to a bright new morning, 'the sun came dancing through the leaves', and it was as perfect and vivid as it can only be when it has been rinsed and wrung and rainwashed.  Even the roses in the garden were still intact.




I went to the post office and posted my snail mail, including a card to Mikku, who, despite a little pot belly and oversized feet on his thin, knob-kneed legs, now in his latest photo, has as bright and keen and jolly a smile as you'll never see on many a better-fed child, and who probably doesn't have windows to leak or stairs to fall down, and certainly doesn't have to worry about a leaking sunroof.

Then we went to the plan d'eau, and it had that full, fat clear look that water only does that's been generously fed and freshened by a whole lot of rain.




And the robins were singing in the way that songbirds do when it seems as though their throats have been watered and their voices are fuller.  Monday was a bright, new shiny day.

Oh, and the sunroof hadn't leaked either.


12 comments:

Rouchswalwe said...

The whole while I was reading your words, I heard Mahalia Jackson singing, "Didn't it Rain" in the background!

herhimnbryn said...

Have just caught up on your last three posts. Such a feast. I particularly like the bittersweet entwined around the tree trunk,a christmas garland.

herhimnbryn said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
herhimnbryn said...

It would seem I liked it so much it printed twice!

Nimble said...

I hope your worrying didn't lose you much sleep. When it is cold and wet I worry about the squirrels. It must be so miserable to not be able to get warm and dry.

I'm glad you had no leak!

Zhoen said...

The outside animals seem so happy after rain, it must be, well, ultimately refreshing. If probably miserable during.

Catalyst said...

Not only was that a marvelous piece of writing, for me it was an education as well as I had to look up: "faffing", "rains stair rods", "blows a hoolie", "velux", "gite" and "plan d'eau". I love learning new (to me) words and phrases.

Lucy said...

Thanks all.

I think our anxiety about adverse weather is probably fairly recent in our evolution, to do with houses and crops and things. They say that when the tsunami came to those islands in the Indian Ocean where the people live very wilfully isolated tribal lives at a low level of material development, they just ran up on to higher ground and came down again later. They had nothing to worry about leaving or losing, and no complicated structures to fall down on or trap them.

R - believe it or not, I don't actually know that song, though I suppose I must do to ahve used the words! I'll look it up.

Cat - I hadn't realised I was so culturally biased in my language! I shall put a link to 'plan d'eau', as I've written about this particular one previously.

Barrett Bonden said...

I like the "full fat clear look" of the plan d'eau. Our barometer of watery excess is, as I suspect you well know, the Wye. The nearby water-meadows are replenished and the wading/paddling birds all migrate to the continent of more accessible worms.

A cult car indeed. Given the pejorative meaning the French inject into "anglo-saxon" it's strange your car model name comes so close. Or perhaps it's all part of a conspiracy and the car was designed to be non-French - ie, dully reliable. Trust you kept your end up with the blokey banter.

christopher said...

Your post was as refreshing as an Oregon rain can be. It was wonderful to know that the aftermath can be an experience shared between Oregon and Britanny.

Lucy said...

BB - or even my big end up... In fact I didn't join in but kept a girly silence.

Bee said...

Calm after the storm, and all that. That picture of plan d'eau matches your description so perfectly. (There's so much pleasure in that for some reason.)