At last it rains. Every gardener in south central Wisconsin must be breathing a sigh of relief. Too many beautiful days without rain. Finally, the thirsty roots have that satisfying drink of water.
And the landscape changes overnight. The greens now dominate and they are magnificent!
Breakfast, in the rain, on the porch.
(on the other side of the screen: a wet landscape)
I have loads of "paperwork" (none of it actually on paper) all saved up for just such a day, so don't ask me what interesting stuff filled my morning. I did keep the door open and the sound of the falling rain against the roof of the porch was intoxicating!
And then, the skies brightened a bit and we put the chicks outside and we welcomed "Dan" to the farmette. He's the guy who looks after the prairie fields out in the Brooklyn Wildlife Area. He came out to give us some advice on what to do with the land out back.
I don't know that we'll follow any of it. We already have competing visions for this land and someone else's take is interesting, but it does not give a clear answer on what should happen next. We are drifting in a sea of indecision. Of our own making.
Spring break is over: time to pick up Snowdrop at school. I will forever love that joyful run to Blue Moon...
At the farmette, she walks her "secret short cuts" and pauses: where is my little white flower? In fact, the snowdrops are finished. We're moving on to the next and the next. It's not up there with realizing that Santa is fiction, but I do think that on this day, she let go of the (beautiful but so innocent) idea that favorite flowers will bloom for you all season long.
Her spirit revives in the daffodil field.
... and in a contemplative moment in the crab apple.
Rain returns in the evening. Light, soundless, wet. April's gift to the garden. Cats and chicks retire early. All is very quiet.
