Witness

I used to walk the distance, taking pleasure in the burn crawling up my thighs, sweat prickling my upper lip. This day, I didn’t bother. I slipped on a rain jacket, shoved my feet into cheap squeaky boots, strapped Tillie into his harness and carried the furry squirming thing into the burgundy Honda Accord.

The meteorologist on the news had described the past week’s storm as a river in the sky. It poured on the city, filling its cracks and drenching its soil. My senses were overwhelmed by the thrum of rain against roof. It had felt wrong to stay dry; I wanted to sit in the mud among the thriving weeds.