she said seriously. I nodded. I’d noticed, too, and had started pushing the raft along with a little more urgency. The clouds jostled one another, piling higher and higher into great heaps. They marched from an easterly direction, looking whitewashed and pristine in the sun’s light. Thunderheads. The word itself is almost adequate to describe their awesome, unbridled power. Surely God himself would sit on a throne so pure and white, shooting thunderous bolts of judgment. The clouds pressed on, blotting out the sun as the gathering wind blew stray drops of rain around. The rain began falling in earnest, but it wasn’t a cold, driving rain, but rather an energetic, warmish one. “I’m getting soaked!” Ellen squealed. “Hold the pan over your head,” was all the advice I could offer. She greeted my suggestion with a scornful look, but apparently, it was the best option of a scanty few, so she held the cast iron pan over her head to at least minimize the rainfall on her face and hair.
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