The Summer Shire and a Subtle Scent.

We had several hours of rain again this morning, but it was not the demon rain of yesterday, driving in torrents on a gale force wind through air enshrouded in mist and near-darkness and gaining access to places to which it was not invited. Today we had friendly rain, which declined to roar but merely pittered and pattered quietly on grateful leaves. Today’s rain was insistent but gentle, and fell vertically through the morning brightness while the pale sky smiled the smile of the gift giver.

And gift it was after several weeks of warm, dry weather. The stunted crops in the fields were visibly struggling to grow out of baked and arid earth, and even the peripheral leaves on the standard trees were turning brown and dropping as though precocious September had arrived three months early. On the other hand, the grasses and wild flowers in meadow, verge, and embankment had a different story to tell. They’d grown well in the mild air and frequent rain during March and April, and so the farmers at least had the benefit of a busy haymaking at the beginning of June, several weeks earlier than usual.

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I went out for my walk in the rain this morning, and was delighted to smell again the scent of fresh water. I often question my olfactory sense when I smell fresh water. I sometimes think it’s all in my imagination. Can water really have a scent, I ask myself? I’m quite sure it does because I remember it being one of the delights of fishing trips when I was a boy, especially on quiet days spent close to a placid, freshwater lake. The smell of salt water on the coast is quite different, though equally pleasant, but here in the green and pleasant countryside the scent is the equal of any wild flower.