She was trudging.

It wasn't walking, wasn't strolling, wasn't flouncing. It was trudging. The bag on her back was lighter than usual but it was there all the same. Her shoulders drooped, her eyes downcast, her steps heavy. It had been a tiring day.

She turned the corner and was sprayed with stray droplets from a misdirected sprinkler. The air smelt of damp soil. In the back of her mind she scoffed. The sun was still high enough in the sky that watering caused the plants to droop.

She trudged on.

The sun was relentless. Her neck felt burnt and her back wet with sweat. The occasional breeze was welcomed. One step in front of the other, over and over again. Her shadow led the way. Before long it became a game of sorts. She chased her shadow, wanting to stand in its middle, but she never could. For each of her steps, her shadow matched.

It wasn't so bad trudging anymore.