Rain

Some good honest Welsh rain this morning. Like it's supposed to be. Everywhere a flat grey, not a breath of wind, and a light but penetrating drizzle that eventually gave way to something rather heavier. For a while, where I was, water was gushing out of downspouts and cascading over paths. I was reminded of many a Welsh holiday as a child. It always seemed to be doing that then.

As it happens, I had work to do, and the rain didn't suit me at all. I had to get down and lay cables, get equipment working, make sure everything was safe, and all with God's good rain making its way down the back of my neck. But I couldn't bring myself to hate it. Water is life-giving, and neither you nor I my friend would last very long without it. And spring rain especially feels appropriate and right - as the song goes

Those April showers, or so they say

bring on the flowers that bloom in May . . .

I won't continue, as it gets a bit twee after that. Suffice to say that I got my work done, dried out swiftly enough, allowed the rain to be an excuse to take time off when I got home and just sit doing the crossword, and now as I write this, we have a grey but pleasantly dry evening, full of the song of blackbirds and thrushes. Earlier on, we had at least twenty goldfinches in the garden, and were also visited by some lesser redpolls, which I thought would have moved on from here by now.