Isn’t this great? Precipitation. The strip of grass on the side of my building is a not unpleasing-looking, if you must know, straw colour. I mean in a painterly way.
Now it’s got a chance. It’s going to get a chance to come back and be green, like the rest of us. You said what?
Is that a bug on the screen? But it’s here. It’s all around us. The beneficent, beautiful, beneficial cool summer rain. The roses up here on the upper deck have been giving out exhaustion-repreive bleatings most of the day. Make it hot but there’s nothing wrong with a little rain. It’s a good day for summer rain and they think we ought to celebrate it. So here goes.
We’ve had the summer wind and so it’s excruciatingly apt that the summer rain is here. 7:10 pm. There. Another little pelt of summer rain. Just to dampen things down a bit. Cool.
And now, from the west, a thundering crescendo of cloud-filtered sunlight. This is the day of all hyphenated words. Which, no matter how long the hyphenated word is, counts for just one word in writing contests. Good to know.
It’s a “Royal William”. “Hybrid tea”, as I recall. Named for the prince who would be king of England. He’s 33 so that means we’ve been in possession, owned and cared for this rose for more than a decade after purchasing it from “Murray’s”.
That’s absurd. They shot Murry and burned down his gardening centre. For the crime of getting on in years. We liked and admired Mr. Murray and looked forward to seeing him. What happened down there must have seemed almost biblical.
It’s time to forget what I’ve said. It’s the sweet summer rain….
