There has been so much rain we're beginning to wonder whether nature mislaid her agenda somewhere. And now that August has arrived, a month typically weather-uncertain, we're certain from our July experience this summer that rain will continue. We'd like to offer a bit of it elsewhere, wherever wildfires are consuming forests and animal habitat, for instance, but that's up to nature, not us. When she finds where she left her agenda, perhaps she'll begin remedying the situation.

We hardly thought we'd be able to get out today. There was all-night rain and it pounded down steadily. And nor had it lifted by the time we woke up (late) this morning. It just kept coming down in heavy reams and of course Jackie and Jillie tried reasoning with us that it was intolerable of us to insist they go out to the backyard regardless to do their business. It's true, we're not 'reasonable' about that little item.

They prefer a stiff upper lip and to retain it all rather than risk some dreadful fate venturing out into the rain. Nothing dreadful other than getting a little wet ever befalls them but they are fully invested in their little fantasy of good weather deserving good intentions. I've been teaching them that childhood ditty: 'Rain rain go away, little puppies want to play'.

By early afternoon, however, the rain did stop. The dark clouds remained making for a dull day and a cool day since the temperature didn't rise above 17C. But how that isn't pleasant given the alternative of hot and humid weather is beyond me. And once the rain stopped Jackie and Jillie were in full agreement.

The rain had stopped but it looked as though it would reappear at any moment. And the forecast warned of afternoon thunderstorms once the rain stopped, so we thought it was useful to wear rain jackets and our puppies agreed. Of course it was also windy. And wind makes things seem much cooler. Last night we watched the excellent Scandinavian film 'Arctic'; two hours of suspense where the wind howling through the snow-packed landscape of that frozen geography accompanied a gripping story of disaster and rescue. I've read quite a lot about the Arctic and Antarctica and climbing in the Himalaya; and the wind is always cited as a dominating feature of environmental danger.

Nothing anywhere near that extreme here, of course, though micro-tornadoes are known from time to time to tear through this area. Several weeks back, one did in fact. Today all was calm and quiet. And we ventured across no one else in our peaceful circuit through the ravine. The trails sticky with muck, but despite all the saturating rain no puddles had accumulated anywhere. The creek, on the other hand, was turbulent with mud scraped up from its bottom.

And we stood awhile, at the end of our circuit, watching as it rippled over its bed of rocks, past the lush stands of jewelweed lining its banks. I've wanted for so long to get a close-up photograph or two of the jewelweed in bloom. Those few that grow in a particularly damp portion of the forest just aren't interested in blooming. Some of them once did, but the trees have since grown taller and fuller where they're located on what was once, many years ago, a bit of a wet meadow, and they no longer catch enough sun to convince them to bloom. Trouble is, tricky footing over those rocks laid down in that part of the creek. But I ventured down anyway, clumsily but carefully.