It has rained. For most people, this means staying indoors to avoiding the mud. Why would one deliberately avoid mud? Mud, the chestnut doze that clings to my skin and squelches under my toes, bubbles on the grass. It splashes up to my mouth; it tastes earthy and pure! To better embrace its wholesome nature, I lie in it. I am surrounded by cool, thick sludge that blankets my soul. The taupe paste runs through my fingers and glistens in the sun. I stand up again and feel it dripping from my arms. It’s almost like its coursing through my veins. Covered with a viscous slop of dirt, water, and love. I am one with one with the world. Through the mud, the land is speaking, yelling, screaming to me. I try my best go speak to it, letting the dark drops on my skin carry my thoughts, hopes, emotions. The mud, drying on my skin, hugs me like a cast of happiness and purity. Worms sing with me, forming a harmonious symphony that radiates to my toes. Bystanders gawk at my shameless display of glee, but in my heart I know they wish to join me and release the burdens from their hearts. In essence, this is what mud does. It washes away my sins and swallows it, digesting it and releasing it as pure joy. My mother calls for me and rinse slowly and reluctantly. I trudge to the front door, leaving a trail of ecru paste. My mother looks down on me and the glint in her eye tells me she’s experienced the very same thing. Inside, I wash the mud from me, but almost want to go with it. Clean but drained, I go to sleep dreaming of my sloppy endeavor.