Rain! I woke to the sound of it, pouring off the eaves. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled across the heavens and I decided, as my dad used to say, it was “gettin’ up time”. So here I am, up before the birds. Are the other people on my street still sleeping? Probably so. And what about those arachnids and insects I wrote about yesterday? What do they do during a rain? Ants have tunnels. Perhaps they close their doors against possible flooding and stay safe underground. Spiders may resort to hiding under something or stick it out on a web. Sunday Dawn and I saw a robin feeding her baby who was in a nest near the top of the post oak tree. I’m sure the baby is dry under his mama’s feathers and she probably has a leafy umbrella over her head.
Yesterday as I was poking through my back yard, checking on the progress of flowers, I noticed the honeysuckle vine is especially full of blossoms and leaves this year. In fact, all the flowers are lush due to abundant rainfall. If there is any scent that says “Summertime in the South” better than a honeysuckle, I’d like to know what it is. One sniff and I’m transported to a time of hot sun, iced tea, porch-sitting and Rhett and Scarlett. The fragrance of honeysuckle is mysterious, enticing, and close to intoxicating. And it also makes a wonderful home for birds. Those who take refuge there are safe from cats, storms, and probably all but the most enterprising snakes. As an extra bonus, their home is fragrant.
As I write my cozy mystery series, I pay particular attention to what Darcy and Flora see and smell. The aroma of fresh-made coffee usually fills their farmhouse. Darcy, like me, is an early riser. She loves the rain too and weather plays an important part in both The Cemetery Club and Grave Shift. Weather is also important in the third book in the series, Best Left Buried. By the way, my granddaughter thought of the name for this third book which is in the process of being completed, and it fits the plot perfectly.
So I’ll close out this rainy-day ramble with one of my favorite poems by Frances Shaw:
Who loves the rain and loves his home, and looks on life with quiet eyes,
Him will I follow through the storm; and at his hearthfire keep me warm;
Nor hell nor heaven shall that soul surprise,
Who loves the rain and loves his home, and looks on life with quiet eyes.
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