I hate the rain… I just can’t seem to find a home capable of standing up to it.

My heart feels heavy whenever I see the dense grey clouds rolling in. When the first droplets fall I always have to dash down below, hoping to escape the starting downpour. But no matter where I go it’s always the same. First, the roof begins to leak and eventually my home begins to flood. Then I race the rising water, climbing out on top of the roof.

The green stalks standing up too high for me to see over make it hard to slide by and find dry land. The forest sprouting from the ground blocks any visual I can use to look for high ground but I can’t go back down or else I would drown.

So I inch along, sliding across the ground torwards the only dry place I know of; a great white flat rock that extends as far as I can see. But I must not go too far out or I won’t get back before the rain stops.

I’ve lost many relatives that way squished on the underside of a shoe or baked to a crisp in the sun…