A day off from work, but I am still in the Adirondacks, hanging out in my tent because it is pouring rain. Grey, gloomy, soaking wet pounding rain alternated with grey gloomy dripping wet misty rain. I am off and on napping on my futon, and reading, knitting, listening to an audio book, and playing Sudoku in between watching and listening to the rain fall from the relatively dry, mosquito free confines of my tent. This is a day of rest and relaxation, heavy cool damp humidity, and lots of free time. Not a bad way to spend a lazy day.
Early morning, birds cheerily singing, slanted sunbeams dance through the trees, green and yellow wavering light. Sitting up with the blankets pulled around me against the morning chill, I look outside the screen tent windows to find those wicked noisy birds. My ears tell me they are everywhere, but not to be seen. I glance up at the softly tinkling wind chime hanging from the tarp overhead and notice a perfectly formed geometric spider web spun between the tarp and pole holding it up. Sunlight glistens and shines through the silken strands making the gossamer threads shimmer. If I were a spider, I would make my home in such a place to catch the first light of sunrise so that I could live suspended in a house of dazzling sparkle sliver sunbeams.
Darkness, seems total and complete until you actually look at the darkness and notice a slight lessening of the darkness between the tree branches and leaves, where the night sky barely peaks through. I have groggily woken to a quiet dark world outside the tent windows. A breeze stir and whispers through the leaves, then almost imperceptibly, a hooting sound hauntingly echos far away through the forest and is answered in turn by another owl nearer, but still far away enough to seem dreamlike in their singing. I fall back to sleep with the barred owl lullaby.
It has been raining for several days, cool and dreary, but it means the low spot behind my tent platform has standing water in it. Now, I do realize that mean mosquitoes, but it also mean frogs. As night slowly creeps through the now leaf covered trees, water dripping off everything sets a soft random beat. Suddenly, through the damp air comes one lone pipping squeak. Then, a moment later, one more. A few more enterprising young frogs make their presents known, until it seems the whole woods is filled with chorusing frogs, looking for mates. A twig cracks somewhere close by and a deafening silence engulfs me. What frog predator is out there walking through the dark, carelessly snapping twigs? Silence stretches for many long minutes, a single bird calls out a few notes and fades off, the sound swallowed by the wet dark forest. Soon the frogs start up again, and I drift off to sleep.