She ran to the top ...

... of Burrow Hill with her little man,

as a brutal rainstorm passed overhead.

It slapped and poked them,

but they laughed in it's face.

Sheltering under the lone tree,

they watched,

as moody clouds continued their onslaught,

leaking cold, wet, bad temper,

over the Somerset Levels.

As they ran back down the hill,

happy summer skies returned.