Soil + water = MUD
I live in Maine. And in Maine, we have a little thing called Mud Season. I'd never heard of
Mud Season while growing up in New Jersey or during my many adult years in assorted New England states. We definitely had a spring season. And a winter season. And they accompanied the traditional summer and fall seasons. And we had mud. But there was not a formal and definitive fifth season: Mud Season. Maine has a long and extended winter...and according to a report I read somewhere recently, the second coldest spring of any state in the US of A. So perhaps that has something to do with it. Winter often seems to segue directly into summer with not much time to enjoy the blooming of the jonquils.
Although I will probably never call mud my friend, I have grown to love Mud Season. It means life is re-emerging from the deep-freeze, allowing things to once again become more fluid...and juicy! The snow and ice are melting, the soil is making itself known. The grass is, thankfully, still alive (although soggy and not very happy looking) under all of that muck. The critters are moving around with a bit more pep in their collective step and poking their heads out to see what's up.
And you can smell LIFE. You can imagine the trees bursting into bloom one day. And the brownish-green grass turning a lovely and lively and verdant shade of green.
There is HOPE. A joyful feeling that wouldn't be quite so delicious were it not for the revolving seasons. Change, in my opinion, keeps us feeling alive. And excited. Every season, even one involving large amounts of mud, makes me feel like a kid again.
My idea of looking out toward bliss.
I went for a walk around sunset today on one of my favorite spiderweb of paths through the woods near one of my longtime favorite beaches. And although the navigation was a bit challenging, I loved being in the muck and mud. And I sat on a huge old tree branch for quite a long while, looking off toward the ocean and the pinkish sky through the trees, and I thought about Mud Season. And how our lives have Mud Seasons. I got a bit teary and weepy about my own private mud seasons...but the emotions quickly turned to an enormous feeling of gratitude at the memories of how I've always
managed to get through to my own "spring." To a fresh start. No matter how deep and suffocating the muck may have felt at the time.
I never got stuck in it permanently. Although there were times I thought I might just drown in it.
It's always distressing to find plastic in the woods or at the beach...but this was a kite, so it felt more forgivable than a soda bottle. If only I could have reached it. Alas...
I hope you remember your own personal Mud Seasons with some brand of fondness for how they brought you to where you are now, and to the growth they caused for you, the strength and wisdom they've given you...and for the amazing person they've helped you to become.
It's rather impossible to not feel grateful when you're looking out at this. Mud or no mud.
And if you're one of those people who whines about Mud Season here in Maine...knock it off.
Life is short. Go find yourself some good rubber boots. And play in the muck. ;)
I don't know this couple, but I do know this bench at the beach. And I love that Rosalie was known as "Honeybunch." As I've already noted: life is short. Enjoy the mud while you can. ;)
And on that note, I bid you a lovely and peaceful and sexy Sunday evening.
Sweetest of Dreams, Darling.