Deliquescence

What a gorgeous word this is - and it can be used to describe exactly the sort of weekend it has been here…. moisture rising, moisture falling, greenness and dripdripdrip…. perfect English summer weather, in fact. The river, last week so parched it was practically syrupy, is flowing freely and with a busy rustle which is keeping the ducks on their toes. I saw one spinning in an eddy yesterday, clearly taken by surprise and looking pretty ruffled.

I don’t mind the rain, everything smells so good. And the weight of the rain is civilised - no crashing bucket-sized drops, just a gentle mizzle solidifying into a steady patter which sounds like, well, comfort. Perhaps the crackle of blood and heartbeat a baby hears in the womb. Whatever, I’ve had three of the most restful night’s sleep I can remember in recent months.

The garden looks spectacular. This isn’t a reflection on me, but on the greenness and juiciness of the foliage. Everything is bursting with sap. There’s so much top growth you can go down to the bottom of the garden and hide. I have done this, squatting like a pixie in the subfusc of the undergrowth, hugging my knees and giggling. I must look demented to the neighbours. Because, while my garden feels secluded, it actually is nothing of the kind. At least 10 houses see into the plot - but it doesn’t matter when you’re sat like a toad in the weeds.