Sunday, November 18, 2007
To walk in the rain
Last night the clouds attacked the house, threw spears of rain and stones at the roof. This morning the world was washed clean and gentle rain was falling when we walked.
Between the high walls of the ancient path that leads to the top of the hill everything shone with a green glow. Beads of light were held trapped in water berries on the purple branches of the sharp blackthorn, and dripping from the russet heather. Small worlds of water.
On the top of the hill, although it was a light rain falling, the weight of water kept the birds huddled and sheltering in bushes. Last night we feared for these small and fragile creatures, outside in the cold and the fierce storm. We would have asked them to come in for shelter. But they would not have come.
Walking back our fur was pulled to sharp points by the rain. On top of the hill the bracken seemed purple. The heather has lost all its colour.
Home in the warm the fire was welcome and we curled around each other, good to walk in the rain, better to be home again.