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Mud Buddies

I don’t how the dirt pile got where it is.  I only know that dribbling water from the hose over the thing now trumps the swingset and swatting each other with sticks.

Which may be the way it’s supposed to be.

I’ve learned, too, that there’s a certain attraction to mud; something innate that draws a kid to mix a little dirt with a little water to create anything or nothing.  Because he can.

I might’ve even joined my kids today if I thought I could hover near the ground like they do without snapping something off.  Like a leg.

Instead, I ahhhed over their tunnels; commended their moats; approved their gulleys.

Until I realized the only voice in the backyard was my own.

Which was when I slunk back and merely watched as their hands dug like trowels and they pushed and pulled the dirt with purpose.  Nary a peep.

I suppose there were books to read, rooms to clean, or each other to chase and tattle on.

But the mud…

the mud made them buddies…

in a way only mud can.



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