It 's beginning to feel as though nature has mislaid her spring formula that balances temperature, wind, sun and rain in her gradual introduction leading away from winter's last hurrah. It's still cold, the wind is fiercely in cranky mode, we're beginning to forget what the kiss of the sun on our faces feels like, and it won't surprise us if we begin to sprout roots under the influence of non-stop rain.

 

We need a break, and nature is busy elsewhere. In fact, we're fortunate. In her focus elsewhere in the world -- rain, copious, huge, unending amounts of it is on the agenda elsewhere. Causing large-scale havoc and tragedy from Europe to Africa. Floods, hillside collapses, houses flattened, people crushed to death or drowning, and survivors left homeless and likely hopeless.

 

So, in actual fact, we haven't much to complain about. On the other hand, living among us are those who found it attractive to live close to large waterways, now threatening to overrun their banks and 'encroach' on 'private property' as though nature is exhibiting criminal intent on failing to recognize the social mores of respect for ownership of properties built on flood plains.

 

As for me, I really, really want to be able to get some work done in the gardens. I've been lopping off dead rose stalks of old climbing roses, and tree branches that Irving trimmed late last fall to enable the fence construction crew to get into tight corners have to finally be cut to size and assembled for compost pick-up. On Tuesday when we were shopping I succumbed and bought two new roses; a carpet rose and a floribunda shrub. Can't plant them while the garden soil is so drenched.

 

In the rain before we set off for our ravine walk this afternoon, I cut back an old, old euonymus shrub, the dead inner branches of our two weeping Mulberries and some canes of one of our oldest climbing roses. They're left where they fell, too wet to be placed in compost bags for collection day. I'd like to tidy them up, but can't until they dry, and they won't dry as long as this interminable rain day after day, keeps up.

 

So finally, we took ourselves out for a ravine walk. It was raining but not heavily when we set out, just a regular light patter. We were all clad in raincoats and for Jackie and Jillie their little rubber boots as well. The trails are in atrocious condition, mud-rutted and slippery. No problem for the pups, but a slight challenge for ascents and descents for us. One thing is guaranteed on these days, few people venture out now, so our forest hikes are serene and private.

Because of the rain our circuit was shorter than the one we took yesterday when there was a pause in the rain. The puppies' raincoats are felt-lined so they're kept snug as well as fairly dry, and so are we. Entirely comfortable, glad to be out. The rain gives a bright sheen to everything as though a lacquer has been painted on smoothly; even in the dim light of a rainy day light emerges from some source to brighten whatever vegetation there is.

 

Woodland violets are now beginning to bloom, but only the smallest of them, with minuscule flowers in mauve or yellow. The partridgeberry colonies are now in full sight, lifting themselves slightly out of the cover of last fall's fallen leaf mass, though it will be at least another month before they send out their own tiny white flowers, preparatory to the formation of their bright red berries.

More troubling signs of future slope collapses on part of the lower ridge overlooking the forest creek. The cracks that had appeared three days back have since helped more of the soil to slip down the banks of the ravine. If that continues, part of the main trail will be obliterated as it was when the giant old pine fell several weeks ago, and where in front of where it stood more cracks are appearing in the Leda clay base of the forest soil. Clearly the incessant rain is having its effect.