It rained yesterday. And last night. And this morning.
I swear that I could hear the ground absorbing all of the moisture like a big sponge. Hear the leaves taking up the water. My rudibekia had curled up its leaves in defiance of the heat indexes of over 100 for several consecutive days. This morning on the way out to the car I saw that they had given up their vigil and were unfurled again in all of their late summer glory. My roses are happy and are in the midst of their second wind bloom. The parts of the yard that hadn't been blessed by the sprinkler are now greening up, the rain coursing up their blades. As a neighbor put it: "Yesterday I walked on the lawn and it actually had some give."
Living in the Midwest, we are used to swings in temperature. It was 101 on Monday. Six months from then, it could be -20; without adding in windchill. We like to think that we are a hardy bunch. Stoic Scandanavians and all. However, like my rudibekia, we do tend to wilt when things get this hot. But yet you still see the die-hards out on their bikes, running, whatever. We just seem to know that we need to capture these days in our memories when it is January, and the thought of walking out to your car with a below-zero windchill is daunting at best. Suck up the sun and the heat and hope that it makes it through winter.
It almost felt indulgent this morning as I cleaned up around the kitchen before Son woke up and I got in the shower. I had a quiet house, everyone and everything else was sleeping. Just me and the rain. It was almost as rejuvenating as getting a full night's sleep (almost). The clouds are now gone and it is a beautiful 75 degrees. Ah, relief.