Sometimes the rain doesn’t stop, despite thinking you can brave the last few kilometres. Sometimes it gets harder. Sometimes the sky decides that you have wronged it, and dumps merciless buckets of revenge on you from all sides. Today is one of those days. I wade barefooted through the flood, my expensive Converse clutched against my chest, leaking water down my raincoat with each step. It’s easier than wearing them. It’s hard to imagine, now, that trees possess colour, not when the overcast clouds reflect gloom on all that the rain touches. The only thing that stands out amidst the grey is my umbrella - a scarlet beacon of hope, but essentially useless in providing shelter from the rain - and my scarf, whipping violently to the side. I have no idea where I’m going. I can only hope I’m retracing my steps correctly back to civilization. A gust of wind throws me to the side, and out of reflex, I thrust my hands outward to stop my fall.