I recollect an old saying in England along the lines of 'Raining at seven, dry by eleven' which apparently has some basis in fact. Something to do with the width of bands of weather over those sceptered isles. Doesn't mean it won't start raining again shortly after, but respite is respite. Here, when it rains, it can rain until there is no more rain left.

It started raining yesterday as I enjoyed the first coffee of the day, and it didn't stop. Not once, until well after dark.

I stepped into the cool night air last night before I went to bed. The moon was incredibly bright. This was the scene: brilliant moon against blue-black sky; a million stars; hurried stormy clouds, grey, black and silver; silhouettes of jet-black trees. I could smell wood smoke from someone's fire, somewhere. Sometimes respite turns what went before into mere punctuation.

My list of materials gets longer and curiouser.

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