Clouds Rolling In

A thunderstorm is on its way.  

I'm watching the edge of the weather system creep over the neighbor's house and, as the words appear on the screen the first few drops are hitting the windows.  Little Cuter's plants are either closing up or opening their blooms to the water.  She has dahlias and lantana and geraniums and chrysanthemums and the most astonishing collection of ranunculus MOTG and I have ever seen. Planted to celebrate the season and look gorgeous for her house party on Saturday, they survived a late freeze and are now simply beautiful.

My little girl never evinced an interest in gardening.  The young woman she's become is fixated on growing things.  Is it homeownership which created the change?  She seems to think so.  Personally, I think it's G'ma's influence from above. Today's humidity and cooler temperatures and rain are just what they need and, again, I'm thanking my own mother for her Mothers' Day gift.

Thomas-the-Wonder-Dog is terrified of thunder.  He quivers and quakes and hides in the basement, which is an improvement over his behavior when the kids lived in a City apartment.  With no place to hide, SIR at work, Little Cuter in the shower, he took matters into his own paws and joined her in the bath.  Crashing through the shower curtain, he wrapped himself around her soapy legs, insensible of the havoc he was creating.  She was there and he was comforted so she continued washing her hair, then washed his, and they dried off together.  

Today, finding no comfort at SIR's feet, he's gone back down to the basement to shake in private.

Those few raindrops are all that have fallen as I've typed these paragraphs.  The clouds are darkening, though, and the wind has died down, and now giant pellets are descending.  Though I worry about the padded lawn furniture, SIR is blissfully unconcerned.  

The edge of the weather system is now a straight gray line in the sky, like the shadow of the lighter gray following it westward.  I'm watching the white blossoms on the neighbor's apple tree hold onto the branches, valiantly.  They appeared earlier this week, I'm told, along with the pink cherry and crab apple blossoms.  Perhaps they will remain attached, perhaps they will cover the grass.... time will tell. For now, they are stolidly resisting the forces of nature.

The separation between the rain cloud and the sky has vanished.  Everywhere I look it's gray.  The basketball playing neighbors have gone inside, Thomas refuses to join us upstairs, and the ranunculus are bowing under their own, wet, weight. 

I've forgotten how much I like a midwestern rain storm.