Wet

mumblings

We did some more work in the garden over the weekend, and I planted some lettuce seeds in one of the beds. When I got home from work today, I went out in the garden to have a look at them, which was slightly ridiculous. I knew perfectly well that nothing would have germinated in 24 hours, but I wanted to look anyway. Growing plants from seeds is such a magical process, even if you know — in theory — how it works.

As I stood casting an encouraging, "grow, please" eye over the beds, it started to rain, and I suddenly caught that fleeting, subtle, exhilarating smell of the first rain drops on warm tarmac. I breathed deeply, enchanted and surprised by it, because it's a smell that I associate with the heat of summer. Then I realised that I was getting unpleasantly soaked while standing mere metres away from a dry sofa and tea making facilities, and went inside. So much for my Earth Goddess moment.

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