Mud

Rain.

It wasn’t heavy, not at first. Just squally showers. I pulled up my hood and mustered my resources. Just rain, I’ll stay cheerful.
But now the sky has lowered and it’s insistent, chilling, isolating. My feet slip in the mud and my waterproofs are as damp inside as outside – probably sweat, but the nagging thought – are they leaking? – drags my spirits down still further.

There’s no shelter anywhere, no let-up, no sign of the sky lifting.

My spirits drop entirely, washed into the muddy ground.

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