Four for Four

A wandering pair of Homo sapiens subspecies brittanica turned up this afternoon armed with their caravan and, as we were beginning another Odonata spotting sortie with cameras slung about various parts of our bodies, they began eyeing up the garden pitch – the pitch next to us with the rain curse.

“Oh, don’t go in there”, we began, jovially, “every time somebody arrives and pitches in there, it pisses with rain.”

“Really, how many times has it happened?” they asked, incredulously.

“Three, so far”, we said.

“Crumbs! How long have you been here?” they inquired.

“Two and a half weeks”, we clarified.

“Oh, well, we’ll break the pattern”, responded the lady of the couple, confidently, as she directed operations as to precisely where to pitch in the garden and in which direction to orient the caravan. [Ed: note that this is the normal pecking order amongst Homo sapiens individuals of all subspecies.]

We continued on our expedition as the new arrivals got themselves installed and settled.

An hour or so later, the skies towards the Pyrenees darkened noticeably. Shortly, we heard a distant rumble of thunder. Just occasionally the dark skies lightened but only briefly due to the illuminating effect of a flash of lightening. Rain began falling, gently at first but then more insistently. Francine and I jumped physically, startled by an almost simultaneous brilliant flash and loud, cracking report thunder in the valley below our campsite.

We laughed with thoughts of “told you so” running through our heads.

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