A good rain makes everything seem less tired; the trees have been given a lift after weeks of hanging their limbs in an exhausted droop in an attempt to conserve energy. The hydrangea leaves which had formerly resorted to rolling up into the fetal position, have uncurled entirely, like the thankful arms of the devoted, outstretched and receiving the Lord.
The world seemed alive again; even the dank puddles, dirty with a collection of old leaves and other debris, rapidly evaporating in the gutters, were being enjoyed by swarms of tiny sand flies, but it was the crickets that were really in full swing last night. So loud was their combined sound that it sounded like the squeal of metal on metal of a train winding its way along the nearby track - honestly, that is what I thought it was! There must have been hundreds of the little blighters out there. I went out to see if I could see any, but even with my ear seemingly hanging over a particularly noisy cricket, I could not see him nor any of his mates. I can't say I have heard such decibels of cricket music since our return, and wondered if they were in symphony, expressing their joy and delight in receiving the rain. If I were a cricket, I think I would have joined in.