I was walking in the rain, my footsteps interrupting the small puddles of water on the rough gravel. I was heading to the bus—to get to rowing. Despite how small the possibility was of the clouds clearing up, I kept praying in my head that they would.

Tired and groggy, I sat down on the bus, watching raindrops glide past the greasy, foggy windows. My belongings were rather wet from the rain; besides my jacket, most of my clothes were fairly dry. Soon enough, the boathouse was finally in sight. The bus ride was really just over ten minutes, only the gloomy sky made it seem like it was hours.

By the time the bus came to a halt at the boathouse, most of my things were nearly already dried. I stook up, grabbing my bags while I stepped out of the bus. The gentle raindrops came, quietly embracing my hair, my cheeks, my fingers and my fingertips. It felt like a new experience feeling a sense of realization about my surrounding environment. I smiled as I closed my eyes and walked across a line of trees and towards the boathouse.