Before the Rust Appears

April has entered, as promised by the adage, 

with showers. Heavy rains have grayed the skies 

all around, creating a backdrop for the newly 

bloomed daffodils, jonquils, and -- dare I say it?

dandelions. Better yet, the magnolias have

shed their little velvet sweaters and

are starting to bloom delicate shades of mauve.

I got these pictures just after the flowers

had opened, and well before chilly spring winds 

whip the flowers into a frenzy, coating the 

petals with rust-colored tears.

Misty Morning

Saturday morning, while waiting for a bus, 

I took a walk around Monument Circle.

Other than Starbucks, none of the little

 restaurants was open, with outdoor seating 

stacked in piles and chained 

against theft. The brushed metal texture

of the tables played a well-regulated contrast with 

the splotchy raindrops collected on the tops.

Muted

Other than the sounds of cold rain dropping against the asphalt 

and splashing into puddles, the day was rather quiet, 

with colors just as muted, providing a bit of visual background

to the shimmering rhythms of the rain.

And the range of colors and sounds 

to be found in Nina Simone's work just 

hits me in all the right places.

I wish I could paint the way she sang.

Sneaked In

I woke up early this morning to the sounds of thunder 

overhead and rain splashing against my windows.

It was a welcome sound because we've been a bit short 

of rainfall lately, but when I looked out the

front window, I saw that fall had sneaked in; the trees showed 

yellow against the dark gray of the storm clouds.

Purple and Green

Why is it that nature always gets its color schemes right, 

while people never take the hint, often getting it wrong?

I mean, flowers never show up in a ghastly plaid,

with yellow and black too tight for their rose hips.

Even with their blatant sensuality, flowers' curves 

never quite spill out of their gowns.

People, though, are a whole 'nuther story.

Blushing With Effort

The rain earlier this week ended around mid-morning.

I'd gone to the Herron School of Art & Design on business,

 where I saw these white tulips outside the entrance.

The blooms were so big they'd nearly overwhelmed their stems. 

When the rain collected in the blooms, the flowers

just laid down their burden to wait for drier weather.

A Rainy Day

It was gray all day. Rain had been forecast and I delayed going for a walk 

even though I knew Now would definitely be better than Later.

Grass in the Coke Field is already ankle high, much of it squishy

underfoot from earlier showers.

As I skirted the edge of the little woods, I looked up to see a large nest,

too big for most birds in the area, too weird to be a squirrel's abode.

Glancing into the still leafless branches, I saw I was

being watched by a large hawk. She was at least a foot tall, 

her herringbone patterned breast echoing the patterns of 

the naked trees behind her. Too fast, I reached for my camera,

startling her into flight. I looked for her, but she had flown

to another shelter, waiting for me to leave.

I'll go back another day. And another.

I walked on, feeling a mist of rain on my face that

turned into drops, then became a shower.

Somehow, I convinced myself I could walk between

the raindrops and enjoy the shower without becoming sodden.

I took the time to visit some trees, to check on 

a couple redbuds and a plane tree in the neighborhood,

and to try for pictures of rain on these pretty trees.

Rainy Days

After a  summer of interminable, unseasonable heat 

and very little rainfall, the autumn has ushered 

in clouds with the precipitation we should have gotten 

three months before. The drought is reflected 

in the prices at the grocery; the bacon shortage is because

the corn drops died, burned up in the heat of  the sun, 

and farmers could not afford to feed their piggies.

The first rain was a deluge, the ones we're getting

now are light, steady, just what we need to soak the ground

 This shrub was cut back, but is responding like 

it is spring, producing new growth, holding large drops

of rain as if to cherish its existence.

Textured Tuesday: Too Little, Too late

After a summer with temperatures that ran 10 to 20 degrees 

higher than normal and very nearly no significant rainfall, 

the temperatures have broken and and it rained heavily twice

within a four day period.  But its too late for the crops and a lot

of the trees. Much of the midwest has been declared

a drought disaster area. In my neighborhood, many of the trees

have dropped at least some of their leaves, while some of the 

smaller trees have died. 

Apples in the Rain

It was a chilly, rainy day when I saw this beautiful apple growing on a tree.  

The rain was dripping off the fruit. It was a picture asking to be taken.
I was surprised to see the large apples shared the tree with a lot 
of much smaller fruit. I looked but could not find a second tree. 

I can only assume that a cutting of the one type of apple 

was grafted onto a tree of a different type, though same species.

Really, I have no idea other than that.

Rainy Mood

I thought, on second look, that the raindrops mimiced

the shapes of the pebbles in the asphalt.

While the red leaves of the trees seemed to pop 

from their cloudy gray surroundings.