Larne under water.

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A slow, persistent rain is falling on Larne this morning, seeping into the soil and dripping off leaves and eaves. I can sense the plants in my garden growing in response to the new soak that’s come their way, their thirst slaked after weeks of dry sunshine. The tops of the trees have all but disappeared into the low-hung mist and fog horns are sounding low and hoarse off the shore. I love mornings like these, June surprises, especially after the torrid heat of May in Normandy. When it’s cold we look forward to heat, and when the heat arrives we long for cooler air. And there are those who can’t manage without a different wardrobe for every meteorological possibility. If the drizzle and mist persist till dusk I’ll celebrate them with whiskey under the pine trees with my crumpled fedora to fend off the heavy drips of water falling from the branches. Of course I’ll wear more than just a fedora.