Lakeside received some much needed rain of the most useful kind, at least in the eyes of those of us with gardens. In spite of my efforts with the hose, the pepper plants were droopy. After this rain they’ve perked right up.

“After this rain” may not be accurate. The sun shone briefly but now the clouds are back. “During this rain” might be more accurate.

I stepped out the back door between showers. It’s steamy out there and smells like a distillery. The rain felled the ripest figs and now they ferment on the patio and buzz with bees, beetles, and wasps. I saw a Red-spotted Purple butterfly sampling smooshed figs and a Red Admiral kneading fallen fig pulp with its thread-like feet. The potted lavender smelled soapy in the humid air.

The showers held off long enough for me to slip my own substantial feet into rubber boots (a barrier to chiggers) and cut basil for the marinated eggplant planned for dinner. Two brilliant red leaves hung from the spindly branches of the small maple. The season wears itself out.

Yesterday when we had our early morning coffee on the screen porch the rain fell steadily and we neither saw nor heard any birds but the caws of crows somewhere a street away. This morning’s rain was a fine mist. I set my phone app to give names to the birds we heard: blue jay, mockingbird, titmouse, red-bellied woodpecker, crow, cardinal, nuthatch, woodthrush and house sparrow. The doves didn’t register, but we watched them. A hummingbird supped from the rosemary blossoms on the other side of the screens.

Mollie dog slept on the porch all morning and into the afternoon, bored without the usual parade of people and other dogs walking past the yard. A quiet, boring day for her.

She’s outside now, after—or during—the rain.