A vicious, tropical storm buzzed in overnight. This bugger is loaded with moisture. And wind. Strong, strong wind.
Everything is wet. I am wet. My dog is wet. This little cabin has that wet dog aroma. I kind of like it. A homey smell. A gosh-I'm-just-glad-to-be-inside-after-getting-soggy-wet-in-the-rain sort of smell.
I couldn't find my rain slicker--so I traded in my walking stick for my Sandinista Colored Umbrella. There is nothing masculine about using an umbrella to walk in the woods. Umbrellas are used one handed by Yuppies to flag down a cab in New York City. Umbrellas are urban. Umbrellas are for sissies. Fred Astaire might use one to dance with--but a Redneck certainly wouldn't get caught with an umbrella.
Using an umbrella in the woods is like trying to lick spilled pickle juice up off the wood floor with two hands tied behind your back. It just doesn't work; is gross. Unsatisfying. Unnatural.
I prefer rain slickers.
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