We can never claim to be bored. There is always something to be done around the house. But we also cleave to routine. And routine was disrupted this morning when, perhaps thanks to a huge inundation of ongoing thunderstorms our newspaper deliveries failed to materialize. An interruption of the habit of reading the newspapers during breakfast. 

To be perfectly fair, it wasn't the newspaper delivery person at fault here, since the newspapers are delivered at a truly ungodly hour -- around five in the morning. And when we got up for breakfast, a whole lot later than that, the sun was out. We called to enquire at the newspaper delivery desk and a recorded message acknowledged they were aware of a lapse in our delivery, and we'd receive our papers by noon.

But by the time we'd called, just after having our breakfast there was no longer any sun, but there was an approaching thunderstorm that had announced its imminent arrival in no uncertain quavering voice. Massive thumps and electrical messaging delivered the message and the rain, an enormous amount, was right behind. Trouble was, as soon as one thunderstorm had exhausted itself, another moved in, so we had an unending series of violent rain events, completely overtaking the ground's capacity to absorb it all. Noon, no papers.

Jackie and Jillie weren't pleased. Nor were we especially, but not displeased, either. Since there's that comfortable feeling of security that a thunderstorm always brings to us. We enjoy the thunder, and find it mesmerizing to watch the inundations that follow. Even if we have to pull on rainjackets and carry Jillie outside to conduct her business. In contrast, Jackie is quite cocky about going out in the rain.

By the time six o'clock rolled around, the darkness in the house interior seemed to suddenly lift, and we paid attention. The rain petered off, and then stopped entirely. Our signal to prepare for a hike through the dripping ravine. And dripping it most certainly was. The sun came out, the clouds moved off, and we moved along the forest trails, occasionally splattered by overhead rain falling from the forest canopy. But before we left the house, the doorbell rang, and when we looked out, there were the newspapers.

Once in the forest, we were glad we'd made the choice to get out with the puppies. Everything else could wait. That special light penetrated the forest, everything looking brightly lacquered, and colours appearing brighter than usual. Moreover, plants and flowers, although somewhat battered, looked fairly happy. And it was intriguing to see translucent pearls of water hanging from the berries of the ripening Elderberry clusters.

The creek had swollen three times its usual width and depth, and stormed down its raceway. The water in motion bellowed and carried with it debris picked up along the way as well as detritus that had fallen from overhanging trees. Best of all, as we moved alongside the creek by the pollinating meadow, there was the Great Blue Heron again, lifting itself from the creek proximity to soar above to the forest canopy, and out of sight.