I remember the squish of fresh mud between my toes, its easy yield to my palms as I rolled it and turned the newly dug clumps into balls or shapes. Few things seemed to draw me in as a kid as fast as a pile of dirt, an open wood, or a summer day beginning with dew and capped off with a lightening bug chase.
I don't know if these pictures are a reflection of the apple not falling far from the tree or just a reminder that children learn to appreciate all things before we teach them otherwise. Unless I show and tell her differently, Audrey will find art in all things - material just outside our door. She will find beauty wherever she steps - a lesson in every walk.
If I can only pause long enough to remind myself that perhaps I should seek out the voice of a girl who remembers what it feels like to run barefoot up dirt hills, to paint with mud and sculpt with clay, before I answer with the voice of the woman who thinks, "I'm going to have to clean that" - perhaps, I can help her summer days last just a little longer.
And keep the wonder that is childhood alive for the both of us.
And keep the wonder that is childhood alive for the both of us.
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