Today the world is a lake. The low-lying garden is a swamp, and Mucky picks his way around the paddock on high ground so he doesn’t get his ankles wet. It’s raining with vigour, and I’m delighted to have wakened early and have nothing I have to do for a few hours, so I can huddle back in bed and read and write and listen to the escalating then subsiding waves of rain – through the window, pounding on the roofs of other outbuildings.
The only thing that disappoints me about Roxul is that it insulates sound so well that it blocks out rain. The sound of rain on the roof is one of my favourite things. Now it has to rain hard enough for me to hear it through the windows before I even know it’s raining.