Day 306: There I was, casting among the lily pads, gleefully pulling trout out of Lake St. Clair when something tapped me on the head. And then it did it again. And again, which made me discard the theory that it was a confused dragonfly. That was when I noticed the pocking occurring on the surface of the lake, just a pip here and there. As quickly as I chuckled "Pitter-patter!" in acknowledgement of Mother Nature's sense of whimsy, the patter turned to clatter, soaking my shoulders and legs with a warm downpour. I looked up to see one lone grey-bottomed cloud directly overhead, one crabby weather-wether fussing among an otherwise contented flock of white sheep pasturing in a field of blue. Ten minutes later, the squall was over, and I was drying in the sun, another fish on the line.
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