5:31 a.m. 62 degrees, wind SW 1 mph. Sky: low clouds and across the valley meet high fog; a veil of moisture; much needed and much appreciated. Lower pasture and the far end of wetlands are in the throes of humidity white-out. A landscaped engorged by an element desperately missed. Permanent streams: invigorated by the deluge, purling, a rhapsodic, hypnotic melody. Intermittent streams: one a series of puddles strung together; the other braids of mud; both seep eastward. Leaves drip, which sounds like rain. Wet earth a downhill ooze, pirated by streams. The entire valley a watery rendezvous.
A creche of poults rise from the edge of a neighbor's driveway and scatter into the maples, an uncoordinated explosion. Three hens strut out of the meadow, stand mid-driveway, silently supervising. Look like dinosaurs. Jays particularly noisy and wet, soaked feathers matted, more gray than blue. Crows particularly quiet. Except for ovenbirds and red-eyed videos, songbirds involved in other domestic responsibilities. A swamp sparrow, a calm thrill that fades away. Red-shouldered hawk hunts elsewhere. Bittern, screened by reeds, silently spears frogs.
A moisture swollen world, thick with the promise. A world wreathed in mist. And pendent raspberries that need my immediate supervision, my undivided attention . . . for the moment.