Day 297: Much needed rain has fallen overnight, the first since the last day of June. The pluviometer registered 0.01" one dewy morning in July, perhaps weighted by a spider which had set up housekeeping in the idle drain. The garden is grateful for the moisture, as am I. A native to the Pacific Northwest, my nerves wear raw when they are compelled to endure hot temperatures and bright sunlight for any length of time. As I entered the Berry Pen through the kiwi-vine covered archway, a shower of cold beads fell on my head and shoulders, streaked my glasses, shattered on my exposed arms foretelling of autumn and its promised harvest of Sungold tomatoes and miniature cucumbers, benevolent drops whose touch was as welcome on my skin as on the foliage of my vegetables. Rain! Real rain! If I didn't have neighbours, I'd dance naked in it.
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