Days of Rain

It has rained on and off since we came home.  The house smells of rain and woodsmoke, as the fire has been kept going to dry clothes.  I never thought we would have the wood-burner going in August, but I suppose that there are times when we would have the heating on to dry clothes if we had any.  Perhaps this is one of those strange times when one season intrudes on another, autumn in summer.  We stood at the Lugg in Presteigne this afternoon and watched a small boy throw stones in; the river was swollen and fast-moving after so much recent rain.  

After two quiet days, this evening the sky over the village was suddenly, quickly, alive with swallows and swifts .  A sudden burst of activity and shrieking, and they were gone.  A sobering thought that in a fortnight or so the swifts will have gone.