The rain has stopped. And the birds are singing. Chirping actually, so not the usual blackbirds. Someday I will learn them all. I wish there were an app that would identify birds based on a recording. I am assuming they are sparrows. The fat little bullies who dare to vie with the magpies for the seeds in our feeder.

Now – as though I summoned them – there is an entire chorus coming from the neighbor’s yard. Crows and gulls, and even a blackbird.

I wonder what birds think of the rain.

It’s a cotton morning. White and gauzy. And I’m looking forward to running on the trail where everything will be wet and bright by contrast. As much as I long for sunshine, sometimes I believe the world is far more beautiful in the context of weather. The shocking greens under slate skies, the oranges that shine through the fog. The world seems richer. More interesting. Even the sounds seem different. I wonder if they are actually? If humidity affects sound waves? I’ll make a note to look it up.

I try to remind myself of this when things are difficult. To look around and notice the details, the softness that is more present when the weather moves in. The way moments can resonate when snagged by the gauzy air.

Tomorrow I want to drive into town and run the old trail where I used to count frogs this time of year. 40. 50. I know it is a strange kind of activity – but it is life-affirming. I feel that if the frogs are surviving there’s hope.

We occasionally see a frog here on the morning run, but I think the lake has too many algae for them to really thrive. The run-off from the farms is intense, and the cleansing ponds help, but not enough. The swans don’t seem to mind. I think there are a few fish in the lake, and I know that eels have survived in the water even when the algae was so thick it was life-threatening to people. Something always survives.

I have yet to see a duckling this year. But I am still hoping. I know they’re there.

last year’s cygnets
are dusted still with the browns
of innocence