Walked out this morning

and the rain - which had been only a slow pulse of mist or fluttering curtain of droplets on Friday and Saturday, but had grown more serious on Sunday - had moved on.

As soon as I opened our front door, the sharp scent of the wet brown leaves on the sidewalk wafted up through the cool clean air. Mind you, around here, the seasons play hide-and-go-seek - it could be Autumn in the morning then back to Spring by noon, then early Winter after sunset. So the transience of these markers makes them pack an extra punch.

And of course, after real rain, the birds seem to sing much louder. Makes me wish I knew their names. After all this time, about the only one I can identify by sound is the crow. Wonder what that means.