Summer is nearly over. The first rains of May came at dawn today and woke me from sleep. It came in sheets and I was unable to do my five kilometers. Why do I feel vulnerable each time summer gives way to long days of continuous rain? On the other hand, after succumbing to the reality of puddles and soaked shirts and mudtracks, the rains seem to offer a haven, an excellent camouflage for tears and sadness. Who will ever know one is crying in the rain?