Freewrite: Muddy Hill

We did not get to see rain quite often. It's a kind of charm that the Mediterrenean weather has - sun, humidity, rain-once-every-three-months.

I think most people would say they don't like rain because of how disruptive it is. I don't have that same kind of relationship. I get excited by rain, something new, something fun. And we were always thought that rain is important for crops and greenery to grow - especially in lands with prolonged droughts.

But perhaps I should not have been excited about rain that day. We were in Summer Camp, although the camp was pretty much a dormitory in our school. There was no outside danger subjected to us. Like most storms here, the clouds quickly dispersed and it would be almost forgotten if not for the wet asphalt in the streets and the smell of petrichor.

Like any other night, we went on treasure hunting in the little forest, but that's the time I dreaded it the most. The soil was all wet and muddy, and my shoes got all dirty. My feet felt like they were both glued yet slippery to the ground, and all I wanted was to grow a pair of wings and float away from the ground.

You would think that such mud was just a minor inconvenience, but I just can't handle anything but the norm.