It is still raining under the trees,
Steam rises up from the road.
As we head off on our bikes toward the dam,
My previous hesitation (fear) seems ridiculous.
The mud flecks onto my thighs,
And sprays up the back of my shirt.
I notice the mud on my shoes,
I should have worn my new water shoes.
We arrive at the dam viewing area.
It begins to rain,
No, it is pouring.
At least the mud is washing off.
As the rain drops pelt me,
I imagine my sunscreen being whisked away.
I feel my socks soaking up the rain.
A frog jumps through the water covering the path.
Thunder cracks overhead,
We are completely soaked.
Just before the rain lets up,
We slide on the wooden bridge,
And both end up laying on the bridge in the rain.
As we continue,
I'm strangely not upset.
A turtle pulls into his shell as I pass.
What is the point of a swimsuit,
When we are soaked?
I put on my water shoes,
And head to the river.
The water level is high,
Finding a warm spot,
We wash the mud from our clothes.
It starts to rain again.
In the car we change into dry clothes (our swimsuits).
An hour later the sun is,
Never trust the weatherman.