Midsummer

The rain is so thick you can see it. It is flooding my terrace and drowning my coriander. The birds are twittering, calling out to one another from their hiding spots deep within the trees. My cat snoozes within sight of the window occasionally opening an eye to measure the ebb and flow of the water falling from the sky. When it tapers, small bursts of whitish light brighten up the grey.

An hour later, the whitish light reveals pockets of blue and threatens to completely dry up the stones and chairs on my terrace. The mugginess has been washed away, the trees stand still with no wind to sway them. The birds continue to chatter and begin to dart around again. My cat yawns and pokes his nose through the cat door to step out on to the terrace and sniff out the moist cleanliness. I am tempted to take my book and my coffee outside instead of to the sofa.

Another hour later and the cat sits sunning himself in my preferred chair. The sky behind him is a Simpsons’ blue, and the sounds of construction have come out to compete with the birds and a soft rustle of leaves. Spiders and flies and mosquitoes emerge to join in the celebration of the sun’s return.

For the past two months it has been consistently sunny and warm and I have fallen victim to the false promise that it could remain so. Of course it will start to rain again. Of course it should. This is a northerly maritime climate, a climate that avoids extremes but believes instead in keeping things steady. Every day this week there have been periods of rain and periods of blue sky, some lasting longer than others. Nice and balanced. A two-month dry period is something I should have written home about instead of the return of the rain.

It is also midsummer night. The days are now lasting about seventeen hours here, plenty of time for us to stay awake and notice the sky playing with the sun and the rain. The Scandinavians will burn bonfires along their rocky beaches, and we will sip schnapps late into the light night, somewhere in the urban outdoors, I hope. And all for what? Perhaps only to appreciate the natural world’s still remarkable central role in our lives.