Jumping in puddles.

The snow is gone in Broad Ripple. It was over sixty degrees on Saturday, and the evening brought rain.

And rain.

And more rain.

Almost four inches of rain between Saturday afternoon and Sunday evening.

I was chained to the keyboard for a deadline, but had to make a grocery run in the early afternoon. All the usual low-lying areas were awash, and I approached the first low spot in the road with the ingrained trepidation of a person who drives a car with steamroller tires and a pavement-scraping cow-catcher, which combine for an effect in deep puddles not unlike Col. Stapp's sled hitting the water brakes at the end of the run.

One of our local low spots, broadly rippling back in August of '11. The one on 54th yesterday wasn't quite this deep... at least, not if you straddled the double yellow, it wasn't.

Of course the Subie, on its tall, skinny tires, puttered right through with no real feedback through the controls to announce we had just motored through a body of water large enough to stock with game fish. If the two or three inches that had been under the tires weren't splashed up past the fenders, I'd've never known.

Because I'm a responsible adult, I did not start driving about, looking for more puddles in which to jump.

Now, on Monday morning, I couldn't jump in them anyway, as this morning's low was fifty degrees fondly Fahrenheit lower than Saturday afternoon's high, and the puddles that were splashy at 66°F are all skatey at 17°F.