The rain is hitting the tin roof in little pitter-patters, which I love.
When building our back patio and deciding to build a roof over it the suggestion of using metal instead of any other roofing material seemed at the time-hm-odd-a-little.However,years later I've come to enjoy the clatter of sound with the elements when hitting the tin roof.
Without looking out the window I know when its raining, windy, or when the temperatures are soaring with the tin roof tinging with a stretch.
Many times over I want to say ,'the old tin roof,'when thinking of writing about it.But it's not old in the sense of one's imagination and where I tend to take one's mind when writing.However, 'the old tin roof,'when thinking of it like so- takes me far and away as if I'm in an old Victorian on a farm with an old tin roof.
Interesting where the mind goes with sound, and a little run with the imagination.
Today is a hum-haw day.Meaning that the cloud cover is low across the valley and the rain is falling in no particular speed to suggest excitement.Its just droning as the morning fades into the day.
I suspect nothing of great adventure will meet me by the end of the day, either, not in light of a pending night shift I'm dwelling towards.
Not very optimistic? eh? Humph.I know.Fa-poo.I can never quite understand how others can find such beauty in a rainy day.Perhaps I'll have to find out the secret for myself.
Yesterday was 'Women's International day.' And for it I took mom out, though I was scheduled to take her out and about anyway.
We wandered about town poking around Sally-Ann's. We have these type of stores in abundance out here, for whatever reasons-I don't know.Needless to say there are of many treasures out there if one might not know unless for your poking about with interest.That said? and hands washed in the restroom of White Spot? mom and I took our hamburger, fries, and coffee's to-go and headed up towards Cultas Lake.
This time of year as I have said before is short from the most powerful feeling of calm and serene.No one's about like the hustle-bustle of tourist's in the summer.
Harrison Lake is the same.
Quiet walks along the water's edge is the avenue.Occasionally the odd dog walker and local will either greet you with a friendly hello or chatter you up while passing by, though all else is quiet.
Mom and I continued our walk along the waters edge and slowly past the campground.
Our conversation was mostly banter back and forth, and catching up.I missed going out with her last week due to covering shifts at work for sick employees and then on.
Mom usually, ahem, stops at every pillar, post, and obscure-yet, obvious piece of nature along our path.She'll bend over and scrutinize it, leaving me with a lesson on plants or small things that I might pass by on any regular day without her.
This time imparticular the conversation although light had mom enjoying her coffee and watching more so where she stepped along the path.It was myself this time that stopped abruptly with eyes scanning the environment where mom kept walking and talking as if I were still at her side.I can't tell you the countless times she had done the same to myself.I'd be well ahead of her walking and still talking to find her bent down poking at some obscure plant sprouting wings, far behind me (chuckles fondly).
This time however it was me whom stopped and her that later realized.
The lake and it's surroundings are bountiful of scenery-nature is on display.With that one can read 'nature's story' like an open book, that is if your paying enough attention.This book was wide open and told a story of a harsh blast of wind that previously whistled with thunder through the fir's along the banks of the beach and up through the forest, littering nature's debris through empty campgrounds and down to the pathway mom and I stood upon.
In this time of analyzing what the weather can do to an environment I stopped yet again to look up at a giant Fir tree.Soon both mom and I expanded our sight on numerous trees in the area. Countless times we walked among them and countless times I'm sure--I mentioned their sheer size.However? this particular time I really grasped the knowledge of their enormity, asking mom then how old some of these wind swept trees might be? Looking up mom said, "oh, maybe a hundred years old." Then she said, " oh, maybe a FEW hundred years old for some of them." Amazing I thought.In fact? my mind hurtled immediately to visions of a hundred years ago and this very place we were standing, and the photo clippings in the newspaper I once saw of Victorian dressed women and men picnicking along the beach.
Funny that, you know? I can easily imagination those days long ago and yet I can't for the life of me find the realism in it.Its as if it were a book I was once read with characters frittering about for my imagination.Or something.
At the end of the day and the end of our walk back to the small parking lot near the summer homes, I gathered with me a most brilliant piece of drift wood.Certain times of the season at the lake you can acquire great amounts of twisting drift wood before the Park's People clear it away, eventually burning it.I walked away with no guilt in the matter knowing that.
It was another nice day despite the rain that eventually fell on our walk back.The timing was,hm, actually perfect.It was if the rain God's held off just for us.
Thank you Rain God's.