Written yesterday before I decided to go offline for the evening.  Yet even now as I post this, the sky has grown dark and forbidding as clouds heavy with rain float by overhead, and already they bring us more of the same…more rain…a tremulous dance performed to the unending beat of heavenly outpourings, one punctuated only by thunderous cymbals clapping to their own rhythm. . .

It has been more than two months since I’ve been able to enjoy a walk at the lake.  As I told Jenny,

I’d really like to start taking walks again! Ugh. At first, I loved the constant rain. I loved the cloudy skies and cool weather. I hated the high humidity levels but was willing to put up with them for the gorgeous storms and torrential downpours. Now I’m over it. Too much of a good thing becomes a bad thing, and this is the perfect example of that premise. Enough already! I want to take walks again. I want to know what a blue sky looks like, and I don’t just mean via tiny holes in an endless cloud that stretches from horizon to horizon. Occasional rain? Sure, that works. Even infrequent flooding and, of course, severe storms. But give me a break.

This coming from me represents nothing short of a biblical event.  I love rain!  I most assuredly love storms!  Nothing enchants me more than dark clouds and gusty winds and strong rain.  Thunder is music to my ears and lightning art to my eyes.

But not anymore.  At least not right now.  Tempests have become ubiquitous.  When one appears, no longer do I feel the enthralling fascination I once felt.  No, it’s become more noting that it’s still raining, still storming, rather than losing myself in the pleasure of trembling before nature’s power.

What began as a welcome respite from drought in March became a missing friend in April, but then it returned in May and hasn’t left us since.  I’m ready for this to end…at least for now.  Let us recover a bit such that the ground can be walked upon without sinking in mud up to my ankles.  Let the sun shine a bit and the heat settle down on us so that we might look forward to the next refreshing, cooling shower.  Let our ears thirst for the sound of approaching thunder, and let our eyes quiver at the unexpected sight of lightning dancing betwixt earth and heaven.  Let all of this become a joy again, rather than a tedious mess.

It occurred to me today that the one or two readers of this blog might feel the same way.  Because it has rained for two months, torrential rain that seemed as unending as intent on inflicting harm and damage, I realized that much of what I’ve posted here has been wrought of our ad nauseam floods.  Two words: BOR. ING.

Well, perhaps not for me, as I’m living it.  Even now, rumbling and roiling, billowing and boiling, a dangerous thunderstorm swims through the air overhead.  There is more rain, of course.

Yet both Jenny and I have increasingly spoken of the longing we share once again to enjoy walks at the lake, to bathe our bodies in nature’s bounty, to wallow away the time with wanderings free of schedules.

These things are simply not to be, however, for the constant deluge keeps the area one massive mud pit, an example of Texas quicksand wherein shoes are deposited without being returned, where nature takes a holiday to escape storm after storm after storm, where plants swim to keep alive, and where the only clear path is made of concrete, something which removes all but the most mundane discovery and joy from the experience.

So it has been for some time now, and so is the cause of my inability to provide new experiences and photographs from the world around me.

Instead of lamenting it and crying about it, however, today I’m going to revisit the last walk I was able to take, the last walk left lonely for the absence of walks to follow.  It was April 29, the day before the rains came, the day before the world changed into a wet tropical mess.  Visit with me that splendid morning now so long ago. . .

A lone male mallard duck (Anas platyrhynchos) sleeping atop a fallen tree
as a few American coots (Fulica americana) swim in the background
in front of the water theater

The community amphitheater

One of the many communal birdhouses around the lake with
male and female purple martins (Progne subis) and
a lone male house sparrow (Passer domesticus)

The tiniest of flowers, blue fieldmadder (Sherardia arvensis), still covered with
heavy morning dew

Wielded like a sword, a lone blade of grass points toward
the heavens

A field of Engelmann daisies (Engelmannia pinnatifida)
and as yet unidentified white flowers

A field of wildflowers

Standing amidst a grove of trees near home

Finally, some photos of my favorite bird, the red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus).  They are common in this area, especially around the lake.  I chanced upon this male perched atop an electrical wire.  Although the photos were taken from some distance, I still find myself entranced by this creature, even by these images, as no other bird captivates me so. . .

[I have but a few photos left from this walk and intend to post them at a later date; perhaps under different circumstances I would claim I’m saving them for a rainy day. . .]