Puddle Jumping

The rains have continued. Yesterday during a brief lull, I visited the pond and studied the water levels more carefully. A log that I once sat upon is now on the very edge of the water.

This was my view from the log just last month. 

December's Pond

September's Pond

Bark dust was completely submerged throughout one stretch of the path, and I had to work my way along the tangled roots to the side in order to keep my feet somewhat dry. I loved the way the overhanging boughs were captured in the reflection.

I did notice how stark and barren the once-secluded bend in the path now feels. The empty tree branches create greater visibility throughout the area, which means I can no longer stand in the middle of the path and feel like man-made structures are far from me. Homes and fences, though the same distance away as they've always been, now peek through the boughs.

It seems a bit silly to feel that as a loss, but I do love the idea of being tucked away among verdant foliage with only flora and fauna in sight. I'm not yet yearning for summer, but I know the day will come. In the mean time, we listen to the rain . . . and even hear the reports of a tornado just to the north!  

Rain in its Season

The forecast called for a 100% chance of rain today, and it has certainly delivered. The pond and park are filled with water, little creeks and brooks forming where there was once dry ground.

Indeed, He "will send rain in its season."





I leapt from soggy bark dust patch to patch in order to avoid a few overflows, squelching as I did so. That along with the unusual 60 degrees made it feel more like a temperamental spring day.



Of course the bare branches and dripping berries served as proof that it is definitely December.

My log looks much different now. In October a cat reposed in the welcome shade of the reeds. Today the log is soggy and nearly submerged, and the cattails are decidedly forlorn.

October log-with-cat

December log-with-no-cat

I quickly made my morning lap, bade a cheerful "hello!" to the drenched groundskeeper, and headed home for the comfort of a cozy Christmas tree, rain drumming on the roof, and a hot cup of tea.