Early July early morning. Steady rain all night. It continues. A gray-green mist shrouds Paradise Hill in the Catskill Mountains. The deer are bedded down. A solitary wood thrush, perched perdue, sings his song for the joy of it. The collie puppy barks at every leaf drip. He barks and he barks and he barks. A sudden waft of honeysuckle sends the heart reeling. The rain is always about to end.