I'm beginning to get life into a bit of semblance, order, almost a personal ritual. First up is collecting the fallen apples and pears - today 6 apples, 4 pears - then the morning photographs.  Today is misty, very misty, a deep grey white cloak absorbing all with a light drip-rain drizzle.  And as I collect and wander round the garden to explore the weather change, I take care to dance and skip and tread round the slugs and snails who have not yet slumbered home after the evening feast of herbs, apples and shrubs.

And then there is my moment of wonder as I see something new or different that today brings, or even more specifically what this time of day brings.  To me the sight of snails acting in pairs is quite a revelation, and the sheer number of slugs that are out and making their way home - today I count 5.
And then a brief run - this first proper run for ages and it brings home just how out of fitness I am and whilst the run is shorter that I dreamt, it is a first run, but I do actually run to the pumping station and just beyond.  But then realising the scale of my unfitness and how I need to build this up - I pause there, enjoy the water channels swathed in their water-clinging mist and run back.
So now I'm sitting in the garden at the end of the morning rain - having fallen it now drip-drains into the grass, the trees having swayed in the night rain, let the waters run, drip and slip down their limbs and bark - wetting and nourishing their roots (I hope).
But all around me in different forms, at varying times is the bird orchestra: on my run I heard a distant pigeon coo cooing, here back in the garden and close to me a small bird chirrups fast and energetically (possibly two of them together) and then a slow determined warble takes over.  And then they are off - their morning call done, they take flight.  
And the only noise I now is the slow drip of the rain, the patter of its' fall and a very gentle sway of wind through the leaves and plants.  The rain is interrupted by what I recognise as the drop of another pear or apple - the pears falls harder and heavier and the apple has a slight bounce for they have a grass cushion.    Something I noticed yesterday was that my ear can even locate where that fall lands - I rarely see the fall - I sense it, but invariably I can at least go to roughly where the fruit fell and 3 times out of 5 I can retrieve it. I have even noticed pears that fall are larger and more ready and yet apples tend to just drop and there is no comonanality of size.
My floral ignorance grows and the list of what to learn extends further - yesterday's flower (honeysuckle - thank you Twitter), this morning, has a dropped jaw effect of its soft pink petal and from that an extended yellow 4 staff stamen and has a yearning beauty.  The whispy bearded vine growth (clematis - thank you Twitter) that is enveloping the garden seat bench has a vivid and dramatic four petal yellow umberella hood.  At this time of the morning it is wide open and enjoying the early morning rain.
My chirruping bird song morning companion is back - I think in a tree next door - I turn and stare hard into the mist - which appears to have thickened.  As I walk down the garden - to see if I can spot the kingfisher (I don't) - I notice that the snails and slugs have virtually gone for now.  And the remaining glory of the early morning rain is the illumination of the spider's webs - usually visible more to touch, than sight - with the rain and the drops they have an added brilliance.  Like crows perching on an electric line, the rain globules hang and bring out the crafted brilliance of spiders nighttime work to catch his food. 
Aha, Dad is up, time for coffee, until later folks...