Muck

It's wet outside. Very wet. Our house sits at the top of a high spot. The vineyards are planted to maximize drainage. The ravines that drain to the river below are running. Water still manages to collect. Nearly everywhere one tries to go, one is constantly splashed. One's feet sink into muddy ground. The cuffs of one's jeans are soaked. Leaf litter collects on one's shoes and boots. I, for one, am not happy.

Water stands in the tracks of shoes and boots and vehicle ruts. The ground has the consistency of a wet sponge.

However, I know things will dry up after a while. It's more or less the cycle that we're more or less used to. And I'll likely be back to complaining about the hot, buggy summer that we're pining for now. Spring is a toss up; it can go either way. It could go both ways. But, whichever way it goes, we'll surely complain about that, too.