It sounded like wind at first — wind blowing thru the trees. But overhead the leaves and pine needles were not rustling.
The sound grew louder. Across the lake, the shore disappeared in a shrouded mist. And a wall of white blew across the water. Rain drops began to fall thru the canopy, making splash marks in the dirt. Everyone retreated into the cabin.
It was a slow, gentle rain providing time for the dry forest floor to soak it up. But the rain continued for fourteen days. With the ground saturated, water began to stream down the hill, erasing the splash marks, pushing piles of pine needles into clumps here and there with puddles of water behind.
Fourteen days is a long time for a rain. It is a long time to be cooped inside a cabin with only books and a pencil and some paper — certainly enough time to finish the books and use up all the paper with silly doodles. Fourteen days is plenty of time for everyone to look up hopefully at each respite, hopeful that the storm might finally be passing.
And so, on the morning of the fifteenth day, when the rain stopped and the sun came out, everyone’s hearts lifted.
…
Ok. And then what?