When we went up to bed last night at midnight it was dark out, and it was raining heavily. The extreme heat conditions had relented, giving  us a comfortable night with bedroom windows flung wide open, and the hint of a breeze of cool air entering from time to time. Augmenting the floor fans' frenetic activity.

In the morning, when we awakened well before eight, it was still raining and the atmosphere was still dark. Oh, not as dark as it had been the night before, but dark enough to know we'd be lucky to see the sun today. That impression was soon validated when the weather forecast that caps the news informed us that this would be another humid, rainy day; more rain expected for the afternoon hours. And likely into the night again.

It's a repetitive pattern. But in fact we don't mind the rain, since we're also getting more than ample sun and wind to dry out the landscape. Enabling us to make a dash for the ravine and wind our way through the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie.

Today was interesting for the drenched appearance of the forest, wetter than we often see it, and darker as well. Glancing into the forest interior from the outside the impression is one of dark mystery; what lies beyond and within? Nothing, of course, that doesn't appear on every other day whether overcast or sunny. Yet the darkness has its mystical side, perhaps a subconscious reminder of early human habitation in forests when competitor species lurked about, some of them regarding humans as prey.

Once the interior is entered, the dusky appearance is lifted somewhat, although the impression of darkness prevails, as becomes evident with photographs reflecting a night-time, not a morning landscape. Foliage has been broad-brushed with green luminosity, drawing light from some source to emphasize a deeper green heavily lacquered with rain.

My ever-ready camera proves unready under these conditions, loathe to allow me to hear that satisfying 'click'. It wants more ambient light than the conditions allow. Still, it would be hard to miss details and to note elements of interest along the way. Such as the surprising proliferation this year of young sumac saplings springing up here and there under the tutelage of mature sumacs. Some of them are placed vulnerably, too close to foot traffic on the trails. Some will survive to maturity, some will not.

Eventually we pass another stripling of meagre height, this time a little oak whose leaves belie the insignificant height and absent breadth of its trunk. At one time a mature oak tree grew there. It's been gone for many years. But a stripling has been making an effort for years to establish itself, close to the trail, adjacent where the original mature one grew. In the spring it asserts its presence, that it has survived the harsh cold and heavy mantle of snow and ice. Foliage emerges, and it thrives in miniature, never growing in height or width.