Greyness has closed out the sky and brought the edge of my vision to the nearest field. Rain fills the air, flecking white against the green of the trees and vines. It is gravity manifest. Water droplets coalesce and overweight with success. Falling becomes the only option. There are no clouds or sun, just wetness, saturating the air, pooling on the ground, and endlessly washing the vegetation. It pours from the grey pools of the sky without cease.
In most dry countries at most times, such gentle moisture is welcome. But the cat, spiky with wet, the bedraggled chickens, and me are all a little uncomfortable today.
I wonder how long it took people to recognise the cycle of the seasons. How long was it before they could see the patterns of seasons over-laying the pattern of days and nights? How many times did they notice that the short days and months of cold being were inevitably followed by the hope of spring and the dryness of summer? Winter would always be followed by spring. How many people died planting crops at the wrong time before the clever ones learned to record and teach so more might live? I appreciate our weather satellites and our clever meteorologists for telling me what the weather will be. Soon the rain will stop and all too soon I will wish it back again.
Heather Webster, Langhorne Creek Grape Grower, writer and lover of esoteric facts