The rain that interrupted the village festivities stops. After twenty four hours of storms we're back to drought conditions and 100 degree temperatures. The forecast in the local paper claims that this week will be the hottest of the year . The poor garden is suffering. The trees along the lane are so parched the bark is peeling off them, the new acers are turning brown, and the box hedge planted by the swimming pool may or may not make it. Next year we'll plant yucas. By contrast the roses planted above the old septic tanks continue to flourish . They've bloomed four times already and boosted by three centuries of accumulated nutrients seem gloriously indifferent to the heat.