|The wet woods|
The woods are wet and dripping. The lane is rutted, with fist-sized stones washed up and sitting in the middle. I can’t decide if these are late spring rains or just the usual summer pattern of frequent, torrential evening storms.
Certainly the landscape is lush, even tropical, this week. I am not a fan of getting soaked by foliage as I walk around the forest. Oddly, I don’t mind walking in the rain nearly as much. Perhaps it’s because I just don’t want to wear a rain jacket when it’s not raining.
The mountain residents are all in evidence, even the yellow-billed cuckoo, which I hear frequently but am lucky to see once a year. The fox still barks in the dark hours, and the chickens still roam free, so far safely, during daylight. At the moment I can say not much is going on except the usual things—and the dripping rain.
In another week it will be time for another season of adventure camp to begin. I was briefly tempted to make a foray down to the creek this past weekend, just to check the area again. But mud and seasonal streams deterred me. I hope both will be drier next week. Actually, I hope everything will be drier by next week.