7:58 p.m.-
Thunder
did not announce the downpour. It's not supposed to be this way, trapped
beneath the bridge by rains that don't play by the rules. It was supposed to be
like last year, storm clouds blackening in the southwest, low rumbling,
loudening gradually, lightning, then at just the right moment, me calmly
setting up the shelter, calling EZ under it with me, scattered big raindrops
inciting just the right amount of adrenaline to hurry, but comfortably, and I
would revel in chivalrous success.
The
sky has been cloudy all afternoon. Radar showed a blob of green edging along
toward town but, at 5 p.m., still five counties away. So, I taunted my luck.
Earlier--
Summer's
sticky balm finally moved in overnight. We had a meaningful hard rain
mid-morning. Mist rose, flower leaves greened in the heavy humidity. The air
had no agenda, neither hot nor cold as though all discussion of such a matter
was moot. Moving was laborious though, clothing stuck to the skin and didn't
glide without a tussle.
The
river was higher by three inches, and I must make contact with the reservoir's
public relations man again to ask how that can be when the northwoods has been
suffering drought.
I
drew us up onto the Sandbank. EZ sat in the water. Birds and tree frogs and
bullfrogs were all in high shriek celebrating the new climate.