Someone mentioned that we had had three inches of rain in three days. It sounds even wetter in centimetres. The Dog and I thought it felt more like centimetres. Going out late the other night for The Dog’s last ‘comfort break’ before bedtime, we were intrigued by the sound of rushing water. Looking around we eventually pinpointed the noise to the little stream (beck?) that runs down at the back of the houses. We went round to the bridge and looked over to find it shouting and laughing like a gaggle of teenagers as it hurried on its way.

Next day we visited the river at the bottom of the village. It was far too busy to talk. It had put on its old brown dust coat and was hard at work, rolling rocks around and pulling low hanging branches off the trees and bushes – and generally having a good old tidy up.

Today we popped down again to see how it was getting on and found it in a much more relaxed mood. It had hung up its dust coat and there was a family of ducks pottering around, giving things a last minute check over.

I don’t know who we’re expecting – but I think we’re ready now.


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