It was one of those summer storms. Violent and fast, came out of nowhere and came quickly. Friday afternoon, just when I was about to leave work, so I busied myself with a half-hour of crossing things off my to-do list, rather than risk being pelted by hail while sprinting through the parking lot to my car. Rain was hitting the ground so hard it was bouncing up again.
Once the fury had been unleashed, the skies cleared as fast as they darkened and the sun shone once more. Fine time for a run, so I headed home, changed, loaded up The Hound and headed to one of our favourite trails. A half hour later, we were rightly soaked, despite the blue sky overhead.
We splashed through puddles, deep and cold from the afternoon downpour. My shoes were soaked through, and my calves smeared with mud and spattered with pine needles. We brushed by trees, heavy from rain which doused the leaves and hung low over the trail. The path had been narrowed by the drooping branches, and each stride I took smeared me with water until I was drenched.
Humu turned to me, smiling through her droopy jowls as her belly was covered with mud. I smiled back, and we continued our wet run in the sun.