soak

Yesterday, the rain whipped and stormed at the windows until 8 o'clock in the evening. It was then that I ventured outside to observe the aftermath. I took my dogs and my camera into the field for an adventure in the wet; up to and around the old forest.

When I got up to the row of caragana trees behind my house, I realized that I hadn't noticed their yellow blossoms until then. Their arms were weighed down by all the rain, but they managed to bid us a dewy "g'day."

The rain had turned the soil of the field into a mass of deep, satisfying mud. My boots made a sucking, slurping sound with every step. The dogs chased airborne sandpipers.

The canola, seeded by the farmers not a month before, were poking their tiny, leafy heads out of the soft mud; looking grateful and awake after the day's rain.

After making it well up to the forest, we stood before the silent view of the highway and the old red barn on my Uncle's farm. I walked; my dogs upset the mallards of a nearby pond.

We ventured around the curve of the forest, to the side shadowed from the sun.

The humid air was still on the dark side of the wood; the sun was hidden behind all the trees.      Ivy came over to say hello. 

 At last, we reached an open part of the forest. We ventured through a row of trees and ancient cement cylinders. My pants and dogs alike were soaked after wading through all the wet grass.

 By the time we reached home again, the cats had emerged.