Rain is predicted. Dark clouds have loomed threateningly today and yesterday, but all we’ve gotten is an occasional teasing drizzle. It hasn’t rained here in 7, 8 or 9 months and this is the fifth consecutive year of drought. I look at the clouds and I make a silent prayer. Please. Rain. If we could understand the language of the trees and the ground beneath us, I imagine they’re begging for moisture. I’m certain my redwood tree is.
Strong erratic gusts of wind knocked over our small ilán-ilán (Aloysia) tree in the backyard. It was top heavy with branches tipped with wonderfully fragrant white, lacy flowers, abuzz with a multitude of honey bees. Cutting off all the branches in order to lift the tree into an upright position, I saved the flowers to put in a jug in the house. The bees clung to the cut flowers, and I regretted having to deprive them of their source of food. Where will they go now that winter is on its way?