Just Another Day

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Photo by Jonny Gios on Unsplash

Each step was a struggle, the sodden earth grasping his feet. Mud caked his legs. The rain had turned every path into an almost impassable bog. Yet here he was, trudging through.

The storm pounded against his hood, the endless roar, deafening. The force kept his head down. Occasionally he’d look up, trying to catch a glimpse of something more than mud. There were two others with him, not that he could see them in this chaos. He trusted they would stick close and follow.

Months of the same routine, mud in the morning, mud in the evening. He missed the dry summer air. He would give anything to be back there, blue skies, dry feet, when the only thing cold was the drinks.

His reverie was broken when he stumbled forward, boot trapped in the clawing mud. He jerked his leg, freeing the boot, grasping at a tree to steady himself. Suddenly the rain eased. He looked around, it hadn’t stopped entirely but, as if someone had flicked a switch, it had become a light mist. Looking around he noticed a patch of wildflowers at the base of the tree. Somehow they had survived the battering weather, their blue and white petals stubbornly rising from the mud. Among all this a bastion of beauty.

The respite did not last, a single breath and the rain picked up as ferociously as before. He didn’t linger, risking a fall he picked up his pace, half jogging half stumbling forwards.

The gate eventually came into view. He cupped his hands and yelled for the others. Shouldering open the gate he marched towards the house. He threw open the door and they all piled in.

His wife was waiting, “So, how was the dog walk?” 

Sighing, he replied, “A little wet.”

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