What's It To You?

I met a toad jumping about in what I now know to have been a hig.  See definition (according to Weather Facts: British Weather Terms - Weather UK - weatheronline.co.uk) below.

hig (Also called ig)

In England, a sharp, short-lived storm of rain or wind. 

Obviously excited to introduce said toad acquaintance to others via In Distant Woods, I searched a bit for quotes or poetry I could incorporate into this post to support my natural opinion that rainstorms are lovely, happy occurrences.  However, I actually could find no lines describing rain as magical, lighthearted, or pleasant.  At best, a writer expressed it was nice to walk in, but otherwise rain was described as a thing of harshness, with lack of concern for what it falls down upon.  I'd forgotten to consider that rain is a like a beating to the earth.

“The rain to the wind said,

You push and I'll pelt.'

They so smote the garden bed

That the flowers actually knelt,

And lay lodged--though not dead.

I know how the flowers felt.” 

― Robert Frost

I wondered if everyone feels this way about cloudbursts?

cloud·burst

ˈkloudˌbərst/

noun

noun: cloudburst; plural noun: cloudbursts

1. a sudden, violent rainstorm.

So, innocent droplets or ominous sky?

Do you open your window to listen?  Do you step outside?  Do you slip on your raincoat?  

Does a downpour draw smiles from you, or make you weep?

Even the rain song from Bambi (granted, with a generous helping of thunder and lightning) was slightly more darkness than delight (or do you disagree?):

Bambi - Little April shower (English) - YouTube

  

Is a rainstorm dreamy?  Painful?  Miraculous?  Does rain fall like bullets, or sympathy, or tears of remorse?  Does it refresh, nourish, drench, or drown?  Does it make you ache, or sooth your pain?  Is it music, or noise, or silence?

Is your imagination stirred or stifled by rainy weather?  Does your mind become restless, or does rain clear your thoughts?  Does the rhythm lull you to sleep?  Is it comfort or fury or bliss to you? 

Does your mood sway with each rainfall, depending on your own condition, or what book you are reading, or what was left outside that you don't want wet?  Or, does your reaction depend on who is caught in the torrent with you?

Or is the rain that familiar yet unwelcome visitor, who comes when it chooses and talks nonsense as long and loud as it desires and bashes on your doors and windows... Pounding, pounding, pounding.

Does rainfall stifle your laughter?  Or is it a kiss, reminding you that you're loved?

Sorry for pelting you with so many questions. Whatever your thoughts, back to the toad's contagious gladness.  This bumpy fellow was leaping around in the rain like it was his birthday.  

Toss That Idea

Oops.  I took way too long time to make the salad.

For Grandpa on His Birthday

I let him see the crane in my sketchbook, but I didn't explain why I drew it, and why for him.  Days ago at the zoo, of all the animals, I found this creature the most intriguing.  He had a lovely dab of red on his head.  Walking slowly up and down the bank in silence, he seemed lost in thought.  I found him quite mysterious.  How did he appear both solemn and cheerful, both at once?  The other animals seemed unbearably sad, perfectly satisfied, bored, or apathetic.  But this crane seemed to have his head on straight.  Though wearied, he lived beautifully.  Calmly.  Hopefully.  I told someone standing next to me that he seemed like he would make a good friend.  Well, I don't know anything at all about the animal's personality, I guess.  But add in 'handsome, kind, and loving' and it all describes my Grandpa.  He's quite wonderful.

Out of Darkness

He was greeted by neon t-shirts, bright smiles, and afternoon sun rays.  After 2 weeks tucked into cozy darkness, it must have been a shock for Erd's eyes!  

And that's when it hit me.

If you've ever seen "Merry Christmas, Mr. Bean," you'll know what Teddy would probably advise I give Erd for Christmas.

Erd

It all began around midnight, with a cup of weak tea sweetened with a mere drop of honey.  In my weariness, the notion to sew Seth a present with these cloth scraps crossed my mind.  No family members were awake to scold or question me, so I began.  Seth's birthday was coming in a week, and he deserved nothing but the best.  

I sketched some vague idea of a badger-seahorse-thing on a scrap of cloth and immediately began snipping and stitching.  I'm not aware of which techniques I employed, or even if I used technique at all.  All I know is, thread was going through needles and needles were poking holes and the badger-seahorse-chameleon was coming alive. 

There was a lovely storm the other day...

Oh, you want to see Erd?  Well, so does Seth.  But I've wrapped him (Erd) comfortably in a purple cloth and put him to sleep in this blue gift bag, not to awaken until Seth's birthday next week.  So you must wait.

Note: Although I made Seth's present (and typed this story) an entire week early, I've managed to "publish" this post a week late, for this reason: It so happened that Erd, in his blue bag, was left behind at home while my family traveled out of town to run soccer camps.  Seth's birthday is nearly past, and I had nothing to give him.  I considered deleting this post altogether, when a fortunate circumstance occurred.  Thanks to a willing friend, the blue bag has been retrieved. Seth will receive his gift tomorrow.

Josie the Brave

I met a girl.  A young artist.  Her name is Josie.

I inquired of her favorite color.  "I like blue, and I like red, and I like yellow, and I like purple, and I like green, and I like white," was her pensive reply.  She had no complex method or meaning, but simply laid the paint down.

"Tuck tuck a wennin don't fall down," she sang.

Josie works in many mediums, including chalk, marker, bubbles, and maple syrup.  Above, she patiently constructs a site-specific piece.  Afterwards, she endeavors to master depicting grass on the Doodle Pro.                                                                                                                                                                     

Why do you make art? I asked.  "I just like to."

On her breaks, Josie enjoys writing songs, tending her garden, and drinking juice.  She has a dog named Moose.

The Old Nunnery

Inspecting things with Seth is the best way.

In this pretty room, a starling rested in pieces peace.

Seth and his sketchbook.

 

He paused on our way out to sketch a few more details of the pleasant old convent.  We found an old bird's nest tucked in the lantern above his head.

I met an interesting person, a fellow artist, in this very New Hampshire neighborhood.  I will introduce her to you in the next post.