Mud

After the hounds have drank and bathed in its waters, the stream continues eastward into the horse pastures. Here, the horses tromp paths across its width, turning its banks to mudslides. Seeing this from the driveway, Libby and I dismounted our bicycles and parted to claim turf along the stream. Taking up heaps of muck, we battled. After peace was restored, we saw Mr. Wiley’s car creeping up the driveway. At almost ninety years old, he must have been quite pleased to see us, with our mud-stained faces and clothes, still enjoying the games he surely played as a boy.