It’s been raining. A lot. Though it’s stopped for now, it’s left behind sloppy, slippery mud. Everywhere. And that clay mud gets on everything, bogging down the wheels of the cart I use to convey feed to the animals, clogging up the tread of my boots…imagine walking in that same mud with now-treadless boots – good times.
Worse yet, that insidious muck gets into your very soul. Sound dramatic? Sure, but after slogging through mud, falling in it, seeing animals walking in it, and being decorated by it, it just wears you down, physically and spiritually.
Of course, there are those who live for this kind of weather: the ducks. With fresh puddles to splash in and holes to dig in that soft mud, these days are a gift to them. Worms trying to make their way across the waterlogged ground don’t stand a chance as the sharp-eyed ducks patrol the area. Honestly, I think the worms are more exciting fare than the seed mix I toss out to them as a treat.
But, not being a duck, the very wetness of the mud, accompanied by the soggy dead leaves, the puddles, and the gloomy sky, makes me want to stay inside, clean and dry.
A farmer can, briefly, daydream about staying inside…but I know the animals are hungry, awaiting their breakfast and fresh bedding, so I get out there and do what must be done. In the damned mud. I know the mud won’t be around forever, but, today, it feels smothering. Begone, mud!
