On Sundays, I participate in Sunday Scribblings, a weekly writing prompt challenge. There are no rules within the challenge, however I am imposing the same rules that I follow for Five Minute Friday: Write for five minutes. No editing, revising, or over thinking. Just write.
Today’s Topic: Mud
I was a fairly normal child, I suppose, when it came to playing in the sand, the dirt, the mud. My dad built me a sandbox just outside my play house, and I loved to play in there. I’d sit on the squared edges and build roads for my cars, including tunnels and hills. It took a little bit of water and mud to form them, and I didn’t mind getting dirty. In fact, I could get downright filthy playing outside.
My mom’s friend has a daughter a few years younger than me, and she had a sandbox built underneath her raised play house that we would play in, as well. My mom would often point out that Katy could play in the sandbox and come out clean as if she had never been playing in it, and that the dirt and sand must have all stuck to me instead of her. It would even be in my shoes and hair.
Want to know something? I liked the feeling of it in my hair. Weird, huh? I like scratching it out of my scalp later on. I’m sure my mom didn’t think so highly of it in my hair when she was washing it out, but what did I know as a kid, other than the fact that it brought me simple joy?
“There is an eagle in me that wants to soar, and there is a hippopotamus in me that wants to wallow in the mud.” – Carl Sandburg
During the month of November, I am participating in the National Blog Posting Month, also known as NaBloPoMo, hosted by BlogHer. Most likely I am following these suggested prompts, but I might just get crazy and change things up every once in a while. I‘m one wild and crazy gal!