Mud and Dandelions
I walk through tall grass, the wet mud squishing through my toes as I step into the muddy puddles. The clouds are full of rain, hanging heavy in the sky, forming a solid wall through which only a few rays of sunlight can sneak.
It smells like rain and wet grass. The horse pastures are littered with dandelions, but the horses are nowhere to be seen. It’s warm, a reminder of the sunny afternoon. You’re carrying our jackets. Tied to my backpack are our shoes, with each step they clap lightly against my sides, eventually I tune it out.
I hold your hand. A bond between us that we don’t cut as we wander through the meadows. The air is filled with our voices and soft laughter.
I stop and admire the work of the ants as they stream across the ground and disappear into a small, inconspicuous hole. A rabbit stands in the meadow. We’re silent and watch. The first drops fall from the sky, but the rain soon stops. The tense air remains.
The rabbit hops away. I put my jacket back on.
The dark forest lies ahead of us. We walk parallel to it, it seems cold and lonely. Everything feels different now, more heavier. So we fall silent as we approach it and my feet are cold for the first time that day.
