Words about rain and the bush and things

Monday, 12 December 2016 at 2:58 pm
 It rained all the way from the coast, sometimes heavy. so heavy that all sound was blocked..
 Even the ragged squeak of the wiper blades was lost to the rain sound.
The misty distance was perceived as ever diminishing wavy lines fading into somber infinity. The clouds a droll grey pregnant with long awaited rain .
We stopped. impatient with the lumbering haulage truck. surrounded by a seemingly smoky smouldering fusion of fine water droplets gathered in a vortex, by the truck.
 Here I wandered, in the sodden, silent bush the sound of my foot steps hushed by the drenched soil, soil that only a brief time ago lay dusty, hungry, desperate for relief from the longed for Summer rain.
 It was for me magic !
 A spiders silken web gathered mirrored spheres, while crystals of rain drops, bejeweled the slender twigs of long dead trees.
 Last years Robin's nest masterfully crafted, by no more than a tiny loving beak lay, muddied grey and crushed, soon to be returned back to the earth.
 Sounds I did hear were soft , muffled by the rain, calls by birds I have yet to see and name, their twittering and chirping seemed to carry a tone of joy a sense of relief a belief that life could continue as it had since time began.
 As I wandered I almost trod on a fungi parting the newly softened sod .
 You see nature has no time to waste in her haste to reproduce, for all to soon that scorching, unforgiving sun will reclaim all that she has given. .

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