Oh and how the rain comes; as if a final swan song before the arrival of the dry season. I never was much of a puddle splasher, and when I was about to leave the Murre Blind for brunch, I could hear the rain and wind pounding at the door and I wished dearly then, that Pizza Hut would make island deliveries.
Alas, it was inevitable that I had to slip and slide down the hill, progressively getting soggier every moment. As we trudged back to the house, I lowered my head and just stared at the back of Pete’s rainboots, doggedly following. All I could think about were Lorenz’s goslings, and how if Pete had lead me off a cliff I would have just followed suit.
But with the rains also come magnificent swells, and whenever I took a break from my numerical diatribe with the computer (aka data entry) to look out of the window I would always be mesmerised by the crashing waves. Equally mesmerising are the sodden gulls, retracting their necks and shrinking into a grumpy miserable bird-lump, crouching close to the ground as rain bounces off their waterproof back.
Later in the day, the sun finally paid a visit, streaming its rays through the parting clouds. “Like a religious postcard” says Russ. Farallumination. I got to enjoy it as I finally headed out to spend some time-gull resighting before dinner. Quite a picture perfect evening. Naturally, I forgot to bring my camera.