As we walk along a mule track, at the height of hay bales on our left, it begins to drizzle. A few moments and the droplets intensify in size and quantity, until they become a summer storm. We walk in single file, me in front and St behind, taking advantage of a better piece of land on the right. Laughing, we speak loudly to prevent the sound of rain and some thunder from covering our words. A girl in a blue poncho passes us and says with a Lombard accent: «Today is hard, I'd say!». We smile at her and, as we are about to say something, we hear a voice behind her shouting: «Wait, go slower, I'm soaked and can't take it anymore. Damn me and my idea of abandoning the poncho to lighten the backpack». After a while, the girl without poncho also passes us and her partner stops to wait for her.
