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.