Wet & Green
Everything was green. Not just leaf-green, sopping, dripping, glowing green. The kind that fogs your glasses and soaks your socks straight through your boots.
The air held its breath, thick with steam. It was like the earth hadn’t quite exhaled yet. The moss seemed to visibly grow as the rain fell on. Mist clung to tree trunks and hovered over the path like it was hiding something special beneath.
The Wet Dog
Luna’s white toes turned the color of coffee grounds in minutes. The thick slathers of mud clinging to her paws like the trail didn’t want her to leave. She didn’t mind. She never does. Just trotted ahead like she was born to be messy and bossy.
The Wet Man
My glasses were useless, fogged, streaked, dripping. I gave up and pushed them to the top of my head. My hair was plastered to my skull. It was heavy and soaked. It felt like it wanted to grow roots right there in the air.
Clothes clung like skin. Everything I wore needed wrung out. My shirt, shorts, even my damn socks. Still, I kept walking.
The Mud, The Ferns, & The Quicksand?
The mud didn’t just squish, it slurped. It claimed every step like it wanted to keep whomever dare step there. Every footfall was a question: You sure you want to keep going?
Yeah. I was sure. Though I thought for certain, all my childhood fears of sinking-sand were about to come to ahead.
Puddles mirrored the sky but blurred it, like even the clouds were dizzy from the downpour.
Ferns unfurled like they’d been waiting on the storm. You could smell the worms and the wet wood. The mushies finally pulling up after a dry spell. The whole forest was sweating. So was I. But the trail felt like a baptism. A cleansing. A mud-soaked reentry.
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