It is hot, and it is humid. The sun scorches everything its rays touch on these July days of extended heat wave. Plants wilt in its fierce heat, evoking pity in the heart of the gardener. We get out a little early these days to the garden to ensure that vulnerable plants are watered sufficiently to withstand the pounding heat of the coming hours. It's been about four days since we've been 'enjoying' 30-degree weather. We've perhaps another several days to go before this front finally moves off.

Yesterday when we embarked on our usual ravine walk, despite feeling uncertain whether we really felt like committing to it, the thermometer read 34.4 degrees Celsius, and when we returned an hour later it hadn't budged. While out there in the ravine the heat was oppressive but not beyond our capacity of endurance. We took our time along the trails and nudged ourselves slowly uphill. Riley didn't do too badly; he takes his time in any event, regardless of the weather conditions. Getting out like this is best for all of us, breaking up the day and exposing us to fresh air and exercise.

While we were trekking through the humid atmosphere, we noted that the muck that had prevailed on certain parts of the trail and never had the opportunity yet to dry because of the plentiful rains that have also blessed us this year, are still mucky though trying their best to dry out. About one-third of the way through yesterday's circuit we heard thunder in the far-off distance. Thunderstorms, at times violent, were predicted in any event, we knew that.

The sky was mostly blue with some clouds moving in. A bit of wind moving the over-heated air, still gave an element of comfort briefly in the fond hope that stray anomalies of cool would greet our melting skin at some point. Delusional, of course. Once we arrived back home the thunderheads assembled in their dark warning and thunder began to rumble in earnest, while the light disappeared into an early dusk. And the rain came down, tentatively at first, then increasingly. The drops seemed to lose their moisture in mid-air; hardly anything appeared to touch the ground.

Venturing out into the rain I hardly felt it touch my skin. I was under the illusion that it wasn't raining at all, simply threatening to. Until I entered the house and realized that I was indeed wet with rain.

For the second day in a row when going out to look around the front gardens I appear to have disturbed a squirrel taking refuge from the heat within the considerable canopy of one of our weeping mulberry trees. I heard a commotion, saw some leaves detach and drift to the ground, and watched as a small black squirrel disentangled itself from the knot of branches under the leafy outer coverage and make an acrobatic leap over the walkway onto the cypress beyond,

in its anxious struggle to escape possible predation.

And this morning, while my husband was out mowing the grass he watched as a juvenile rabbit ran out from under our neighbour's fence over to the shelter of our shade garden at the side of the house, secreting himself within the umbrellas of the large old hostas growing there.