"I can see clearly now the rain has gone..."

"And in a little while the heavens grew black with clouds and wind, and there was a great rain."
                                                                                 1 Kings 18: 45

For weeks past the ground has been getting drier and drier. In the fields around the village great cracks appeared in the earth, as the land grew parched and weary; the levels in the reservoirs crept lower and lower, and the threatened hose-pipe ban became reality.

And then the rain came. On and on it rained, for days and days, sometimes in heavy-sheeted downpours, and sometimes in a gentle monotonous drizzle; sometimes it threw in a bit of hail, just for a change, and sometimes thunder and lightening would throw in their two penn'orth (so as not to feel left out of the fun).


They say (whoever 'they' are) that no amount of rain at this time of year will make any difference to Britain's Situation of Drought, because it all gets soaked up by the plants and there's none left to fill the reservoirs; perhaps that is true, but I think there would have been quite enough left for the reservoirs, if only the water people would keep them in proper trim, and not let them leak all over the place. 
However! the plants certainly did soak it up; and in just a week our lane has been transformed from a brownish youth, only just out of winter, into the full verdant glory of Spring's young womanhood...

Early morning walk

Yesterday, my dog and I went for an early morning walk. We set off straight after breakfast; the sun shone, the sky was blue, and every thing looked fresh and bursting with life after a few days of rain. Up above, the flag on the church flapped joyously in the breeze, and in the copse a thrush sang.

++++++++++++++++

I am rather fond of gates.
They have such an intoxicating combination of invitation and forbidden entrance, that I cannot walk past even the most mundane without feeling a little twinge of excitement. On our walk today I had the joy of walking through two kissing gates (so romantic, even if one is, in fact, on one's own...), the second of which opens onto a glorious view of the Chilterns.

We walked slowly on, taking a little path beside the copse where I heard the thrush, and came across another gate; and here was richness! An old iron, padlocked specimen, it's stone pillars covered in ivy, and the path beneath all over-grown with grass, it stood tall and proud in its half-forgotten state. I should not have been surprised to know that the house it led to was named Satis...

Who knew Miss Havisham lived in Oxfordshire?

It also reminded me of Shelley's Ozymandias, except that these 'legs of stone' were surrounded by green fields and not lone and level sands:

"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert...
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

Peter

On the eve of Good Friday, Jesus was arrested. His trial lasted all night and well into the morning. All his followers took fright and ran away, leaving Jesus to face death alone; only Peter followed along behind in the darkness. When Jesus was taken to the high priest's house, Peter crept into the yard outside, and tried to squeeze in unnoticed beside the night-watchers' fire; but a Galilean has an accent, and a firebrand follower of the strange new teacher who claimed to be God, was likely to be remembered by the more observant members of the public...

"Hey, you! Aren't you a friend of the man who's been arrested?"
"No! No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are. I've seen you with him."
"No. You must be mistaken. I don't know him."
"Of course you do. You're obviously from Galilee, like him. I bet you're one of those 'followers'."
Poor Peter. If they kill the leader, how much more quickly will they kill the follower.
"I told you, I've never met him!" he cried.
And then the cock crowed. What was it Jesus had said to him? "Before the cock crows today, you will disown me three times."
And Peter went outside, and wept bitterly.

When my mother was at university, a friend taught her a song telling the story of that night. Over the years, it has become a family favourite. Never having come across it anywhere else, we have come to the conclusion that it must have been actually written by that friend - or perhaps a friend of that friend. The song is called Stand in the Shadow, Peter. I have recorded myself singing it, and you can find it in the column on the right.