Noah, I imagine, knew days like this one. Had his faith and sanity tested.

Almost superfluously the BBC announced yesterday that 2012 has been the wettest year since records began (which, according to the Guardian: “The England and Wales Precipitation series, which measures rainfall and snow, goes back to 1766…”). This non-surprising set-up followed by the knockout uppercut prediction from the Met Office “ … land unlikely to dry out within the next two months…”.

Now, it’s only a guess but I believe you can sense the frustration in these simple opening lines. Am I right?

Taking rooted-in-water cuttings of what we call a climbing fuchsia (OK it doesn’t actually climb, but it grows at a tremendous rate, looks superb tied to trellis and roots in a glass of water on the kitchen windowsill without any fuss) down to the greenhouse I squelched across the lawn. The ground below the grass-and-sphagnum cocktail is so waterlogged there are pools where the swing used to sit and beneath the apple tree, where scrounged turf is taking root.

I haven’t been to the allotment for over two weeks. Don’t see the point. Seeds ordered through the communal shop ( )have arrived, but will have to remain undistributed for now. The compost buckets kept in the garage are bulging, but kneeling on the lids makes enough space for the next load of (mostly) tea bags.

Strong overnight winds; low, scudding battleship grey cloud base this morning throwing large raindrops at all and sundry – again. I have good Facebook friends in Sicily who have been posting romantic photos of snow-covered Devon cottages since the middle of December – but, sorry kids, not this year. Earlier I sat, motivation levels low after re-stocking the bird feeders – watching a B movie creature-feature about a Yeti terrorising some region in winter-stricken North America. I could only yearn for the beautifully crisp knee-deep snow and birch scenes (feeling neither sympathy for the formula characters nor the beast itself), remembering Bev Doolittle paintings (Evening Encounter perhaps?).

Then, coming out of the gym –creeping up on a New year’s resolution, I hope to make – there was a dramatic strip of burning sky, resting on the roofline horizon. Lime green, light blue, swirls of rose pink, lilac, maroon and violet like the rosettes on a busy painter’s palette.

We are many years and potential climate changes from the Biblical flood, but for a moment I feel for Noah. Judgement promised, the ark being built, but then the sky promises sunlight and a future.



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