First Day of June

Mist hovered over the meadow, the air heavy with moist heat--harbinger of summer weather.

The waxing gibbous moon climbed a sky still cast in daytime hues. 

In the greenhouse I filled six small pots with soil, poked in seeds of miniature zinnias, three seeds to a pot. I've not found a permanent spot for my newly purchased clematis, so disinterred it from its nursery pot to larger quarters, noting that it is in climbing mode and needing a trellis taller than the foot high plastic structure in the original container.

A fifteen minute downpour in late afternoon, a few distant mutterings of thunder, air so heavily moist it seemed one could reach up and squeeze a handful as one would wring out a sponge.

Each day I think we've seen the last of the grape poppies, but a few more stretch upwards and bloom. 

This one is actually a few inches under the steps; I've watched it grow in this inhospitable location thinking it might give up and die. Almost overnight the stem twisted outward and this morning the top bud opened. Most of the others in bloom were shattered by the force of the rain.

Watching the storm from the partial shelter of the porch. 

Robert-cat went out after 'tea' and knowing his fear of storms I stood on the steps calling him. When he didn't immediately appear I decided he had taken shelter in one of the long roofed aisles that run either side of the shop. As the rain increased I again ventured out to call him and he popped out from under the steps, happy to dash inside and shake the rain from his coat. When Jim arrived home a few minutes later Robert demanded his attention seemingly complaining about his ordeal of being caught in the storm.

The rain hit several hours earlier when I was doing errands in town at the other end of the county. I was standing in the checkout line at Wal Mart when I heard the battering of rain on the roof. Approaching the outer doors I could see the parking lot awash; shoppers huddled under the metal awning, one man puffing on a cigarette, adding the odor of tobacco to the scent of wet asphalt and exhaust fumes.

My tolerance for Wal Mart is very limited. It had taken nearly an hour to gather the items on my list, I had two more errands to accomplish, I wanted out.

Accordingly, I plunged into the rain, shoving my laden shopping cart through streaming water, feeling it seep coldly into my shoes. By the time I reached my car rain was streaming from my hair onto my spectacles, drizzling down my neck. I had sacks of cat kibble, cat litter, a large Rubbermade bin, two bags of potatoes, sundry small items which seemed to take forever to stow in the car.

At last, shivering, I flung myself into the driver's seat, snatched off my blurred glasses, peeled off my sodden outer shirt, A glance in the mirror was not encouraging. 

I looked like the proverbial drowned rat!

I had earlier picked up several sets of cotton pillowcases at Good Will [I have a thing about pillowcases!] so I snatched one from the carrier bag on the seat and began rubbing at my dripping hair.  Before I had finished mopping myself up the deluge ceased as quickly as though someone had turned off a faucet; the sun came out, the parking lot steamed.

I drove the short distance to the bank, trudged in to cash a check. 

"My goodness, your shirt is soaked, " exclaimed the white-haired cashier.

"Yes," I responded, "It was a matter of remaining in Wal Mart for another 15 minutes or getting wet!"

She nodded sagely, "Oh, I quite understand. Summer showers--its that time of year."

Next stop, the post office. Entering the airconditioned lobby, icy air knifed through my wet T-shirt, plastered my damp hair against my neck. That kind of chill isn't good for what ails me.

A few blocks away is The Shepherd Shop--for less than a dollar I could have a dry shirt. Daughter Gina was there, poking about in the racks of second-hand clothing. She was astonished to learn that there had been a cloudburst two miles away, but agreed that a half hour's drive home in soaked clothing was bound to be miserable. 

I quickly found and paid for a soft long-sleeved pullover and back at the car managed to peel off my clinging T-shirt and haul the 'new' one over my head. I was still clammily damp in terms of jeans, socks, shoes, but the feel of warm dry fabric settling onto my shoulders was comforting.

Sunshine all the way home, sunshine as I hauled in the still dripping plastic shopping bags.

I gave the cats their 'tea', stuck a slice of homemade bread in the toaster, heated left-over soup. Dry clothes from the skin out, dry shoes. 

When the storm broke here an hour later I was settled and snug, an observer rather than victim of the elements.