mud. i never minded mud when i was young. i’d stomp through it. search it out just to put my bare feet in it, my hands, my imagination.
My heart is moved by all I cannot save:
so much has been destroyed
I have to cast my lot with those
who age after age, perversely,
with no extraordinary power,
reconstitute the world.
- adrienne rich, from the poem: 'Natural Resources', 1977