the perfection of Hanna

It rained today.

Perhaps that is an understatement. My local neighborhood raingauge read 9 inches, all of which fell, with the exception of some light overnight moisture, mainly between the hours of 10 a.m. and 5 p.m.

We watched it rain all day. Saturday Morning Cartoons broke a bit of the monotony of the earlier storm hours, and then we played games and did puzzles to fill the afternoon hours. At times there were some exciting gusts of wind, making us want for more as we watched the sheets of rain dance along the flooded street. However, with no tornado watches, no thunderclaps and no transformer explosions, it made for a relatively uneventful tropical storm pass.

Some are not so fortunate, as I have friends who are shop-vaccing out their basements as we speak. Thank God we had that french drain job done five years ago--right before Isabel hit us. It has kept the basement dry since.

After a delicious dinner served up by the Crock-Pot Queen, the Young Prince and I strode off, hand-in-hand, in the glorious post-storm wind gusts and clearing skies. Sidewalks are never as clean as they are following storms like this; the air is crisp and the different layers of clouds create a dizzying effect as I watch the darker, closer ones race through the lower atmosphere with the upper level white on blue sky serving as a somewhat less speedy backdrop.

As we jumped over puddles and muddy patches, we watched squirrels madly scrounging for the nuts that trees had released in the winds. I explained the mechanics behind rain gutters, sump pumps and flooded yards; and we could see with a leaf-created line in the neighbor's lawn just how high the water had come along the street during the height of the storm.

Returning home, we decided it was time to take advantage of a gardenful of pliable soil, so the Young Prince grabbed his Tonka Dumptruck and I grabbed handfuls of weeds and effortlessly ripped them from the mulch. I created small piles of weeds and the Young Prince dutifully loaded up the dumptruck and towed them away to the large pile that will go into the compost tomorrow, happily chattering the entire time.

We had to surrender to the darkness; neither of us wanted to end our cool, humid garden time but so had arrived the hour of being unable to see enough of the weeds anymore to make a difference. I did not bother to wear gloves today as I wanted to feel the cool, wet earth between my fingers and was in the mood to dig the dirt out from under my fingernails.

It had been so long since a good soaking rain was enjoyed. The crickets sound happy, the worms were squiggling gaily...

...there was a thirst. And it was quenched. Perfectly so.