Northwest Drizzle is the weather of solitude.
On a hike I pulled my red baseball hat down further to shield me from the rain and pulled my black Gore-Tex hood over my head. By the time I left, my jeans would be heavier than when I arrived from the continual drops that soaked into the cotton. Each step, a splotch and squish of the trail, was littered with puddles that squirted their muddy contents on the calves of my cheap and well-worn Old Navy jeans. As the trail dipped down, dodging the trees to sneak between them, the familiar heft of my hiking pack skidded slightly against my back. It held in place by somewhat tight shoulder straps and a snug sternum strap across my chest. In the Northwest, the earth smelled warm and damp after a rain, a natural baptism.
I never minded the rain.