Today is what people who are consumed by weather conditions call a 'filthy' day. From dawn, it has been steadily raining. Correction: it rained heavily all night; in bed we could hear the rain running in the eavestroughs and pattering on our bedroom windows. The sound of rain falling during the night has a calming effect, though, seeming to comfort the listener, as though proclaiming that all is right with the world; after all, water and rainwater are necessary for human survival. We'd like it well enough if rain was exclusively a night-time phenomenon, doubtless.

Today's rain seems, like the all-day rain we experienced on Monday, a never-ending affair. We don't get the kind of monsoons seen in tropical parts of the world where the rain falls and never seems to stop. But sometimes, at this time of year, the atmosphere does resemble an aquarium. As it does today; the ambient air suffused with moisture, everything grey with heavily overcast skies, dripping, storming, plastering us with rain.

The birds don't seem to mind, they take it all in stride; they have few other options, after all. Today the redpolls have gathered in their flighty numbers around the feeders. Among them, on the ground, there was a goldfinch just beginning to change its drab winter coat to full-on spring/summer attire of, of course, gold.

Jackie and Jillie are less than thrilled with the rain, reluctant to stick their dry little noses outside, and unhappy that their usual romp in the ravine isn't likely to happen.  So they watch us for signals and sit about a trifle disconsolately.

This kind of rain reminds me of when our children, now all in their 50s, were teens, and we spent all of our leisure time across the Ottawa River in the nature preserve of Gatineau Park. Ever optimistic, we would embark on a day's adventure to explore the long trails that soon enough became familiar to us, with all the challenges inherent in clambering up stone- and root-heavy trails to get as high as we could in the mountainous terrain, an ancient chain no longer mountain-height, but respectable nonetheless in its geology. We would begin the adventure with a picnic, and then head off for one or another of the miles-long trails we got to know so well. At that time the area was under-used, and we would be the only people around, anywhere we chose to make it a day's adventure.

Occasionally, we'd have set out on such an adventure, despite weather reports contrarily warning of just such a 'dirty' day in the hopes that there would be a clearing and we could enjoy the kind of outing we'd become accustomed to. We would arrive at a destination, set up our picnic, then jerk our heads overhead at the first sound of thunder. We always came prepared, since bungees and tarps at least guaranteed some shelter, and surrounding trees provided the perfect anchors for a nice large tarp to be hauled over a picnic table. Sometimes the rain would pass on after awhile while we patiently waited, enabling us to enjoy a rather wet but pleasant picnic, then we'd head off for a long and damp hike in the woods.

But sometimes the rain was unrelenting, and we weren't able to carry on. That was the worst-case scenario, when we'd have a damp picnic under a tarp, enjoy our wet surroundings in the forested semi-wilderness that we so loved, and look anxiously at the sky for glimpses of let-up, but to no avail. That's when our day's excursion was cut short and we returned home, resolved to make the best of whatever was left of the day, disappointment notwithstanding.