There’s only a thirty per cent chance of rain, he told me last night (we always do a weather report in the evening so I know what to wear for my early morning walk). It had rained when I first woke but it had stopped by the time I left the house. This is nice, I thought as I walked. The wind was quite gusty (what the BBC call moderate) but not unpleasant. I was thankful for the dry and was just putting my hood up against the wind when it started. I was down by the harbour. And it was if someone had just got a huge bucket and emptied it. And kept on doing so. Down and down it came. It went into my shoes, through the side of my hood, saturating my gloves and waterproofs. I wanted to rise above it (and think of those poor loves in Canada with their sweltering temperatures and freak fires) – concentrating on the smells of the sea, the fact that, as yet, I wasn’t actually cold and so on. But I failed. I got cross. Cross with the weather forecasters, with him for being so sanguine (it won’t rain) and my shoes for letting the rain in. I squelched along doing most of my walk and got home sodden. Then there is the stripping off at the front door, the hanging of wet things in the bathroom and the knowledge that drying out my shoes will take days. But. And there is always a but. I did see something that gave me a fillip of joy. It was semi-dark when I first caught sight of him. And I couldn’t quite work out what it was. A four-legged creature, with a rounded back. A rat? No, there was no tail and he was too dum-di-dum for a rodent. He’d come up the path to the side of the bowling green and was crossing the pavement. He must’ve heard me for he stopped to listen. I stood still and realised what it was. A hedgehog. He resumed his trek and headed under a parked car. It did lift me. It was an expected encounter, something beyond, something magical, I think. A quiet, shy being crossing my path.
They promise a better day. We shall see.
