such lovely moss roses, simple petals about a yellow heart, brilliantly open in rosy red or yellow or coppery red -- like suns on the branches. and in-between them, more moss roses -- even when not in bloom you can tell them apart, because their leaves, still succulent, are thinner, almost needle-like and the flowers are often double -- and even on the same plant, you get orange and white and pink flowers, sometimes ruffled.
It splatters, bits and pieces of water, and then, abruptly, the heavens open with great enormous raindrops that splatter as large a saucer. . . clearly seen because it takes a bit for them even to get the pavement wet.
Thunderous clouds, rolls of thunder -- and then the straight white bolt flashing down, and the rain falls into torrents, and the water is rushing on the pavement even before I can look out the window.
The heavens open, abruptly -- I am a little dubious in the low spot of the road but get through it with being trapped, and up the next hill, I see a waterfall as broad as my hand fountaining off a stone wall.
You can tell the drought by the line about the ponds where a gap has opened between the greenery and the water -- and the reflection of it.
Look out the window, down to the apple tree and see even in August the sprig that had turned yellow.
Some ponds have turned entirely fluorescent green from the pond scum; the drought means the waters are not stirred up.
The banks of the stream are longer than before; bold grasses have started to grow in the gap between the waters and the cattails, and the jewelweed growing bright orange, and the loosestrife with its purple flowers. Still, one can see there have been some rainstorms; by the dam, where the forget-me-not are flourishing in blue flowers, still the grasses and rushes were so beaten down by the flood that they still lie flat on the earth, unable to spring back.
A farm's field full of some kind of low plant has yellow petals bedecking them all -- or is it leaves, turning with autumn? I'm driving by and can not tell whether those clusters are flowers.
Mist across the moon, with streaks of cloud, and it so obscures it that the moon is featureless and white.
Against the gray sky stands the lamppost, with pigeons perched along it, mostly the steely gray, but one, perched among the others, a snow white.
A flock of birds, gathering to migrate, on the back of a highway sign. The corrugated type, the birds are perched on the resulting shelves. Not a full flock, since they did not fill up the top of the posts, and every corrugated inch of the sign, and have still more flitting about looking for a perch.