mudboots

misty rain was trying to fall through thick, humid air.

we were comfortable beneath raincoats, each several sizes to big for the wearer, as were the mudboots. really the mudboots were winterboots. winterboots with rubber outsides and liners. we took the liners out to make instant mudboots.

the corn was taller than we. if a bird were to look down upon the fields, he would see circles through the crops. each circle was perfect, save a long, silver radius. this radius was the irrigation. it pivoted around the aptly named pivot through which was pumped the water that the irrigation- a series of sprinklers on a long metal pipe, suspended above the corn on sets of wheel axels- watered the crop. the corn.

the tire tracks were the perfect width for us to walk single file. we tried to ignore the fact that we would just go in a circle and arrive at the next field lane, and think that we were going on a grand adventure.

soft thunder sounded above. there was hardly any wind. the sky was grey. the mud was thick.

we plodded along; the rough corn leaves brushing our faces.

at puddles we would stop and look for frogs. the mud was too dark, when the frogs jumped in they were gone. we could comb our hands through the muddy water as much as we wanted to, always to no avail.

i have always found beauty in water. water falling, water moving, water collecting. there is a place between two out buildings on the farm, where the water drips off several roofs into one puddle. the rocks have surfaced there, keeping the water clear.

but the water on our trek today is muddy. everything is thick: the mud, the air, the mist.

we don’t talk much. what is there to talk about? we are on one trail; there aren’t any options for other places to go. maybe we could have gone down a cornrow, but they were narrow and long and straight. the rutted irrigation wheel mark was more mysterious, winding in a perfect arc.