I. Getting wellies on It's early Sunday morning the first time Arlene ventures out of her home. She doesn't mind rain, in general; in fact, she looks forward to it, for the soothing pitter-patter on the window and for nature's growth in the aftermath. But storms have usually broken by morning, and when it becomes clear this one won't, some of Arlene's garden has to be rescued and brought indoors.
It's harder than it looks. The rain dulls Arlene's sharp sense of hearing, robbing her of one way to navigate a familiar environment, as well as most of her sense of smell. She has to feel her way to the pots, feel her way to where the relevant plants are growing, stumbling over shifted ground and into puddles and mudholes as she goes. At one point, she miscalculates a step, and falls face-first into a pile of mud.
And for several moments, she just lies there, unmoving in the mud, torn between laughing and crying, both of which will undoubtedly lead to mud inhalation.
II. Further inconvenience
Several days later, avoiding the market becomes impossible, though clearly not quite as impossible as asking someone for help. Arlene has to resort to using her cane, which she hasn't touched in years, to avoid obstacles and perhaps help identify where she is in the town based on the sound of the stone below her feet.
Theoretically, she knows the way. Practically, the roads feel and sound completely different from how they normally do, and it's not long before she finds herself utterly and completely lost, in the opposite direction of the market, hunched and shivering in her cloak.
"Alright," she says into the rain , just in case anyone's nearby and she flat-out can't tell. "Hello? I'm a little lost."
OTA
It's early Sunday morning the first time Arlene ventures out of her home. She doesn't mind rain, in general; in fact, she looks forward to it, for the soothing pitter-patter on the window and for nature's growth in the aftermath. But storms have usually broken by morning, and when it becomes clear this one won't, some of Arlene's garden has to be rescued and brought indoors.
It's harder than it looks. The rain dulls Arlene's sharp sense of hearing, robbing her of one way to navigate a familiar environment, as well as most of her sense of smell. She has to feel her way to the pots, feel her way to where the relevant plants are growing, stumbling over shifted ground and into puddles and mudholes as she goes. At one point, she miscalculates a step, and falls face-first into a pile of mud.
And for several moments, she just lies there, unmoving in the mud, torn between laughing and crying, both of which will undoubtedly lead to mud inhalation.
II. Further inconvenience
Several days later, avoiding the market becomes impossible, though clearly not quite as impossible as asking someone for help. Arlene has to resort to using her cane, which she hasn't touched in years, to avoid obstacles and perhaps help identify where she is in the town based on the sound of the stone below her feet.
Theoretically, she knows the way. Practically, the roads feel and sound completely different from how they normally do, and it's not long before she finds herself utterly and completely lost, in the opposite direction of the market, hunched and shivering in her cloak.
"Alright," she says into the rain , just in case anyone's nearby and she flat-out can't tell. "Hello? I'm a little lost."