We have had more rain than I can remember, perhaps the most recorded in a decade. Things are turning mouldy - my new suede shoes for example - and mosses are growing vigorously on the ground on the shaded upper side of the house. At night the sound of beating showers is a constant background to dreams, the pelt at the window and the sibilant murmur of moving water. The back yard is impassable, save in a pair of wellington boots. Even those sink below the level of the grass. I leave dark muddy prints wherever I step.

My mind always turns to poetry at such times. And often as not I look for a classic Chinese poem to express my feelings. I found the following translation of a Li Shangyin poem at the blog of Andrew Wong from Hong Kong, done by the gentleman himself. Li Shangyin lived in the late Tang period, a time of great flourishing in the arts in China.

Written on a Rainy Night: A Letter Sent North

You asked of my day of return - alas, I have none to tell:
In Bashan, night rains, in autumn, cause ponds and pools to swell.

How I long to be with you, your west wing candles to trim and,

To talk of the times and hours, when in Bashan night rains fell.