I very much doubt that what initially alerts us to an oncoming thunderstorm -- atmospheric darkness -- makes any impression on Jackie and Jillie, but even before we hear the rumble of far-off thunder they're aware of it, and emit a few nervous barks. They tend to settle down as the storm moves closer and the sound increases. Thunderstorms don't necessarily alarm them. Jackie may growl a few times on low decibel, just to remind the oncoming storm that he's the boss, and then all is still as they relax. In a sense, one supposes, emulating us.

All may be still between them that is, certainly not still in the exterior. Yesterday, once again, a violent thunderstorm entered the late afternoon hours with rain lasting for hours, voluminous and loud, but not nearly as loud as the thunder. Too late I remembered that I'd left my shoes out on the deck. It had been such a sunny morning, with a nice breeze, and beautifully cool. No storm in the weather forecast, and none expected. So those shoes got pretty drenched.

Small price to pay for the drama and pleasure of watching a thunderstorm in action, the rain drumming down, splashing onto windows, falling so thickly visibility is pared down to a minimum, the wind with it bending shrubs and trees to its rhythm, pounding down delicate flower stems. But they're all resilient and recover once the rain is over and the sun returns. That happened the following morning; though the storm hit in late afternoon it vented its fury for the remainder of the day and into the night hours.

Rain aside, or despite the rain, our little family of five raccoon kits and their mama come around every night between the hours of ten and midnight, to gather on the porch and leisurely scoop up peanuts. There must have been a lull in the rain when we saw them last night. They were undisturbed by the rain, and in fact they look well prepared with the thickness of their coats to withstand a drenching in such weather.

It's a bonus that we haven't had to water anything, thanks to the rain. And the combination of rain and sun has worked wonders for all the vegetation that's been conceitedly showing off this year. Growing robustly, flowering early. From early-blooming sunflowers in the forest, to fast-ripening berries ready to be plucked and savoured.

We pretty much had the forest trails to ourselves this afternoon. Certainly no complaints there. We did come across one old acquaintance and his elderly black Lab and it's just as well we didn't bump into any greater numbers of people we know, since we tend to spend an astonishing amount of time standing around talking, challenging our dog companions' patience.

There were only a few areas that betrayed the torrents of the day before, sodden and dark. For the most part though it's a certainty that the forest floor is by now well saturated with the unusual amounts of rain we've had this year, it's handled the situation very well, absorbing it all. The sun brought out dragonflies and bees and butterflies, and small birds we didn't get close enough to identify flitted through the trees. Appearances are so brief I thought I saw a hummingbird at the orchid-flowers of the Himalayan balsam.

Ragweed in bloom now all over the forest has a truly appealing fragrance and it wafts its perfume everywhere, yet it's a common allergen affecting many people. Goldenrod is just now beginning to flower and turn yellow. But the proliferation of wildflowers in early bloom this year has been truly exceptional; where in previous years their appearance was obvious but relatively scant, this year they've taken over entire swaths of hillsides and forest clearings in an elegant display of beauty, height and colour.