Gabriel,blow that horn!

The rain has stopped for now and from the open attic window I can hear the sound of the stream that runs by our house, now swollen to spring-runoff proportions from days and days of precipitation. Crossing the river while driving Little Princess and her BF to their rehearsal tonight, we couldn�t help but notice how high it is, completely covering the enormous sitting rock which one can usually step onto from the shore. Looking eastward towards the experimental farm, the mist is pouring off the floodplain like a white cloud onto the surface of the water, itself brown from the stirred-up silt. Hubby and I noticed from the deck that the sun was breaking through the clouds just as it was dropping behind the hills to the west on the other side of our valley. Hopefully we will have sunshine tomorrow.

My brugmansia has a perfectly-formed angel trumpet blossom hanging from it, with the promise of several more to come. It smells divine, as predicted by my nurseryman, and I am delighted. However, the tag said that it would have salmon-coloured flowers, and this particular bloom resembles the flesh of an arctic char more than its Atlantic or Pacific cousins. In fact, it is practically white. Do I dare to disturb the universe? But, speaking of colour, there is one tomato turning red among the green ones that burgeoned when we had all that warm weather a while back. I fear that all this rain will make them split. The basil is just about ready for the first pesto harvest, and already I can smell the garlic and parmesan in my mind�s nose. Ah, there is nothing quite like it, is there Jenn?

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