Rain

Last night as it got dark I was out driving, with a good view of a pearly, opalescent skyscape full of palest blues and creams and greys with a few streaks of pink and gold. It was a late summer sky, not an early winter one, and even as late as Anzac Day the air was warm in a way you'd expect of March, not April.

But this morning the sky is a uniform if slightly fluffy grey, and I was woken by the steady patter and hiss of rain on the corrugated-iron roof and tyres on the wet road outside my window. It's not big freaky flash-flooding hailstones-in-the-gutter rain, either, like the storm last autumn that ended up running in sheets down the insides of the bathroom walls and costing me an arm and a leg in home improvements for stormwater management, thereby ensuring that it did not rain again for the rest of the year.

Nope -- this is lovely gentle normal rain, little rain, the kind I think they're talking about in 'Westron Wind'.

(Westron Wind, when wilt thou blow,
that the small rain down can rain?
Christ, that my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again!)

Every plant in the garden is already sitting up like a grateful dog. And they're saying three days of it.

I suppose I could whinge and moan about not having had the resources (time and money, as usual) to organise a rainwater tank yet, but that's a bit Eeyore-ish even for me.