Some days are filled with nothing but rain. Occasionally that’s a metaphor, but sometimes it’s quite literal. For example, once again following Honour McMillan’s intrepid footsteps, I  visited H22O, a region with its own kind of beauty - and plenty of rain.

 Oh, sure, the arrival point isn’t wet, just overcast:



And it’s nice and dry inside the lighthouse:



 Outside, however, is a different matter. Water and rain, rain and water:



I’m reminded of the song:

Last night the dealer offered me a new hand
Laid out so simply, thought I'd understand
With a different name, different face, different town, different place
In the same little world. 

When there's nothing left to salvage
When losing it all doesn't mean a thing
I pray for the never ending rain
To wash it all away. 

I set out on foot straight down the grade
Laying crumbs and seeds to mark the paths I'd laid
I found the northern lights, western shore, eastern front, southern cross
And soon I was home. 

(chorus) 

Every day I read the paper and I pray for the flood
But the rain always stops at the first sign of mud
I want to feel it all, feel it burn, watch it twist and feel it turn
And leave nothing behind. 

(chorus) 

(Steve Wynn - "Never Ending Rain")

The statue below reminds me of one of Doctor Who’s Weeping Angels, about to claim another victim: