It thrills me to find that the garden birds are enjoying the return of the sunshine as much as me. I have the kitchen door wide open and all day I can hear them singing their little hearts out. Oh, they do sing in the rain, of course they do, but there’s a special enthusiasm about them now that they can feel the sun. And they’re dry, too. I can feel it in my bones, which are responding in much the same way. The Prozac helps, too, beginning to kick in on the third day.
I feel little bursts of energy fizzing away in me more and more often each day. It’s pleasant to think that they may join together and keep me from sitting in my chair moping and murgling through the days. Even if they don’t it is good to wake of a morning and feel that it’s worth getting out of bed once more. There are only three weeks and a couple of days now before Graham comes home. He’s as pleased as I am at the prospect and we speak of it every day.
My friend Bonnie over at Patchwork wrote yesterday of her photographs of rainwater puddles. I was much taken with the idea of following her lead and producing a series of photographs along similar lines. That’s something I can do–after all, I do live in the land of the puddle. Typically perverse, there’s not a puddle to be seen anywhere, just dry asphalt and dryer concrete. I’m not inclined to wish for rain, though. I’ve seen enough rain these past few weeks to last me for a good long while. It’ll come back in its own good time, that much is certain.
Meantime I shall enjoy the sunshine, listen to the birds singing, and while the time away until my wanderer returns.
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in the sunny garden
wild birds sing–
no raindrops fall
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