Rain, fire, hearth and home
Sitting in front of the fire, eyes closed, listening to the sound of water spilling off the roof in all directions is a cross between dreadful and fanciful. Sometimes I can feel the heat of the fire warming and softening my limbs as it's flames lick at my feet; sometimes it feels like someone is spitting at my face from across the room; at other moments there's a cool cross-breeze that wafts through the tent, giving temporary relief from the heat; and then suddenly - inexplicably - I'm lost in an intoxicating smoky fog. Depending on where I place my feet, I feel either like I'm overcooking or chilly and wet, and so I search for the happy medium.
Our solace in this storm - a single fire and a big tarp - erected by a few stones and a whole bunch of knots and hitches. The tent bows and buckles under it's weight and is periodically released of the building pressure - as though the center pole is the head and shoulders of our 8-limbed circus tent creature, hurriedly bailing itself out but with only one bucket.
Water is fascinating to observe. We spent most of the day listening, watching and directing - crudely at best - water as it fell, pooled, spilled, ebbed and overflowed, permeating every imaginable surface. We watched, in no less than a day, our environment change from an arid, sometimes oppressively hot clearly to a huge mud puddle.
Once again, the learning here is unexpected. The things that have become the most interesting are the things we thought we already knew - rain, fire, hearth and home.