How Quickly One Forgets

"Eighty percent chance of showers."  One-hundred percent definite downpour all day is more like it.  It all came back to me in a rush...sitting on a muddy stand next to a dripping goat, fumbling with frigid fingers.  Ah, yes...like Maurice Chevalier, I remember it well.  Fall has fallen in the foothills (I do enjoy alliteration).  It never ceases to amaze me how quickly a day or two of rain and a few days of sun will bring green to the barren ground.  The goat pens, dry and brown a couple of days ago, are already tinged with the dormant seeds that have sprung to life.  A long day of rain brought out the pine beetles last night, those huge bumbling bugs that tap against the windows like ghostly fingers in the dark.  Still not able to light the wood stove, it was a good day to bake (another eight loaves of zucchini bread) and wash more windows.  The deer herd came and went as if they owned the place, and flocks of sodden turkeys stood like statues under the sheltering trees.  At nightfall, I could see that Nineteen had been washed clean of his purple polka dots from the grape skins.  All in all, it was a good day.