I heard rain in the deep recesses of a sleeping brain. That primal sound was not enough to wake me. I was surprised on my first foray outside to find that the fog was so thick it made wet.
Mist and drizzle began soon after and the real reason for the wet was revealed. The long arm of hurricane Matthew had stretched all the way to WNC from the central Atlantic Coast of Florida. I was getting hurricane drizzle.
A parched Tall Flower Meadow began to bow down in gratitude.
I need rain. I am getting drizzle.
A full days worth of drizzle is still less than a quarter inch of rain. I'll take it, but that won't last long before parched returns. There is still a chance for some real rain tonight. That would be nice. Thanks for the drizzle though.
Ironweed prepares to take flight and I ponder wild pigs rooting up the scalped hillside of grass across the scenic byway. That is much too close for comfort.
My absentee neighbor is not fond of hunting. I need to make him aware that wild pigs are a non-native invasive species with severe detrimental environmental impacts on the land he wants to preserve. I want to hook him up with some hunters I know. I have a new agenda.
Wild pigs, feral cow colonies, free range chickens, I'm living in a barn yard.
At least there was drizzle and the pigs haven't crossed the road.
High on the low spot of a North Carolina mountain top in the middle of no where may not be far enough away.