Another week of rain, and there is so much gardening to do. Knowing the rain was coming, I worked like a fiend on Monday, the only nice day of the week so far, and got most of my perennial beds uncovered from the brown winter leaves that blew into them last fall.

The thing about Maine, and perhaps northern New England, is this: Once it starts raining, it doesn’t have enough sense to stop. Yes, we need rain, and one rainy day is always welcome, especially this time of year. Two days are all right as well, but when the damp weather stretches on to three, four, or five days, then enough is enough. I know. I should be counting my blessings that I live in a state that has plenty of water. And mostly I do. But two weeks of rainy days, punctuated by a day or two of sun, can wear on a person.

Yesterday the rain stopped long enough—for the whole afternoon!—for the dog and I to go on a woods walk. It felt good to get out of the house, and the route I like best involves two long, steep hills. By the time I get to the top of the hills, my heart is beating fast, and I am slightly out of breath. Another bonus. Nature’s gym, as I like to say.

Even on a gray day, a woods walk is a sensory delight of sound and color. First, I was struck by the amazing bright green of the new leaves—color-crayon green, I call it—and the woods seemed lit from within. On one side of me, the Upper Narrows Pond was gray and placid yet slightly mysterious, a cool punctuation to that riot of green. All around came various sounds—the raucous, jungle bleat of the pileated woodpecker; the lonely yet lovely “where are you?” call of a loon; and the rushing sound of the streams as they bounded over rocks. I felt totally immersed in these sights and sounds. I was certainly in the moment.

Ahead and behind me, my dog, Liam, sniffed and left his mark. If I stopped too long to take pictures, he would bark at me. “Come on, let’s go.” But he was patient when I sat on a stump to just look and listen. I guess sitting, unlike standing, implies no movement.

Across from where I sat was a huge dark cavern made by the upended roots of a fallen tree. I started imagining what could be lurking beneath, an underground community of woodland sprites, with their own little busy lives and society. Or perhaps something more sinister, some kind of beast in its lair, a creature with red eyes and sharp teeth.

Time to go, I decided, and Liam concurred. We went up one of the big hills, out of the woods, and back to our snug, cluttered home. It was also time for tea—Earl Grey—and a snack—a few pretzels and an apple, bits of which I shared with Liam, who lay beside me on the couch. The orange cat was stretched out on my blanket-covered legs, and everything felt cozy and warm.

Gray days have their consolations, but I am certainly ready for a stretch of sunny days.