What found us in our play.

close up of heart shape

We were not sanitary children, somersaulting in soil, clods of mycelium matting our manes. Our hands, handling humus, were the opposite of pure. We marveled in the muck of it, colluding with colluvium. Saturated with smut, we loamed our elements, barnyard babes absolved by absorption in the dirt that knew us, holding tight.

Author: Stacey C. Johnson

I keep watch and listen, mostly in dark places.

2 thoughts on “Dirt”

  1. I’ve got a photo of myself (age 4) and two siblings playing in a mud hole. Naked and the only thing visible were our teeth through our smiles.

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