That straight down, slightly chilling, but not enough to light the fire kind of summer rain. The rain that quenches the garden, that makes you want to curl up with a good book (I have one), the rain you don’t want when you’re on holiday and camping under canvas but are tents ever made of canvas these days?
On Saturday at the beach, a dog that my grandhearts had thrown sticks for on a pervious occasion, walked past and the youngest threw her plastic spade into the stream and yelled ‘Fetch!” Unfortunately the dog didn’t have its scent and perhaps didn’t even see it being thrown such is the pace and attention of a dog enjoying the beach. A 6 year-old with a good arm can throw quite a distance so it ended up in an inaccessible part of the stream . . . inaccessible because the water is still very cold and the far side of the stream a tad swampy.
Three days later the spade was still there but I’m afraid this rain will wash it out to sea where it will join all the other bits of plastic . . . and I’m feeling guilty because I didn’t want to get cold and muddy.
When I explained that dogs need to be forewarned about sticks (and spades being thrown) my grandheart said no-one tells her these things and cried . . . and I’m feeling guilty.
Tomorrow, or when the weather has cleared, I will go on a spade hunt but I think I have left it too late . . . the opportunity, and the spade will have gone for good.
There is a lesson in this for me . . .