It’s raining tonight. First time since I got here. Water droplets hit wind and fall in slanted streams. For some reason, this rain’s not as repellent as the east coast makes it. There, I run from it. Sprint from house to car to barn to house. And if I happen to have an umbrella, cling tightly to its handle. But here I let rainwater intersect with skin. Find it refreshing after months of blue skies and sun. The slugs come out and situate themselves center sidewalk or stair. Some of them carry great shells on their backs. I tiptoe around them, fascinated, disgusted, and remember Judy’s warning, (“They grow six inches long out there”) delivered when my burgeoning gardening skills led me to encourage Connecticut slugs to populate the veggie patch. “I thought they were good for the lettuce” I said when she found me gently depositing a straggler I’d mistakenly removed. She smiled. Shook her head. “I’d throw them over the stone wall,” she said, turning towards the woods and walking off, dogs at her heels.