Rain in the Mountains

We had thunder and rain here in the mountains, and of course it turned wondrously cool so quickly. I went outside to take a few shots after the rain, while things were fresh. My mother has a fondness for roosters. Here's her front porch welcome mat:

We watched "Hercule Poirot" last night, and today Julia has murder mysteries on the mind. Philip said to her, "There's a cute puppy over here who wants some attention (meaning Sandy)!" Julia replied, "No. I'm writing a book." I think she's considering cyanide as her poison.

Tasha seems very glad to be home. She avoids having her picture taken.

My mother is a plant person. This was a birthday present, but she doesn't know what it's called:

Her hybrid Rose of Sharon, very tall:

Foxglove. I love that its other name is "digitalis." I imagine little foxes slipping their paws into these blooms, reaching up into tiny paw-gloves. We put our "digits" into gloves too, don't we?

I always find time in the mountains so refreshing. It invigorates my spirit like rain on parched ground.