boom, e, and I ventured into a grey mist, leaving us damp and chilled but certainly not frostbitten. The sky put us in mind if Scotland, though land wards had a different feel. Our treks to the post office are along paved streets instead of endless moors, and puddles are the closest things Loch Ness (much to boomer’s relief.) I in my kanken, e in his hat, and boom in her barbour strode across the sidewalks, daring the clouds to do more than hover ominously. We were ready, whatever they gave us.
We intimidated them, I think. Or perhaps they were laughing so hard, they couldn’t unleash a storm. We arrived at the post office and left without any more event than boomer barking incessantly, which is the unfortunate norm these days. To home we came, happy for our adventure.
This trip was momentous in a different way: the last wrap to leave has left.
Now we have three, each serving its purpose, each indispensable. And we’ll keep it at that.