Soaked

Rain - soaking rain - and we were out in the woods.

I am not particularly enthusiastic about being cold and wet. I'd rather be inside reading. Did I mention I have flannel sheets and two new books next to my bed here? Their covers are shiny with enthusiasm.

Nonetheless, we all pulled on our sweaters and wool socks, slid into rainboots and raincoats, and bravely headed into the rain.

We did exactly what every eleven year old should do when it rains in the woods: we played.

We tromped through thick brown mud until our boots stuck and friends pulled us out.

We slipped in and out of a stream.

We threw rocks for the splash, and we jumped over rocks, and sometimes we even fell in with a splash.

We wove sticks into boats, and picked the brightest leaves for Andy Goldsworthy sculptures.

We scrabbled up hills, holding back whippy branches for each other.

We scrunched behind trees and lay belly down on the ground in a few good rounds of camouflage.

We stomped in puddles. We shrieked and ran.

We nibbled on tree branches after hearing they were edible. We promptly spit out the tree branches after tasting them. (There's a big difference between edible and delicious.)

We came home so wet we could wring the water out of our sleeves.

We had fun.