Mud
Before the long weekend the SUV shone with the hues of bright cherry red. As we drove back to the city it was indistinguishable . A think layer of cracked, dried mud coated the vehicle like chocolate. Veins that reminisced where water once touched formed and hardened along the side doors and below the tinted windows. As we picked up speed along the freeway, dust that had settled in every crack and gently upon the roof freed itself in an angelic made up entirely of spices like cinnamon and nutmeg.
It rained all weekend long but today the heat of the afternoon sun scorched the earth and took with it any moisture it could find. Mud that was once viscous and moving was now solid and stagnant - like a memory.
Inside the SUV was damp and the smell of campfire, rain and wet dog clung to the air. These smells felt unnatural even though we were the ones that gave life to them. I think it’s because we were forced to face them now in this tight space.
Dev was driving so I had all the time in the world to think and process everything I saw, both presently and throughout our weekend away.
Driving back into the city always feels like getting rudely awakened from a dream that you were interested in - both physically and emotionally. The contrast of serene forest greens and the overwhelming amount of stimulus the city offers is astounding, always. It always gets me wondering why we are so drawn to city life. What brought us here in the first place? What keeps us coming back?
Dev’s concentration is fixed on the road. As more traffic build up his focus is more and more tuned to what is happening right now. The vehicles around us are pristine and shine vibrantly as we overtake them in haste.
What stories do they tell? Where have they traveled to? Impossible to tell without nature speaking for them and writing it’s time with the elements.
Dev and I are an open book. The mud caked and clinging to the sides, tires, roof, and windows hides nothing about our past whereabouts. I like to wear it like a badge, leaving the SUV dirty for the rest of the week. It tells everyone that we ventured outside the confines of civilization and survived.
I remember living with a friend before moving in with Dev and starting a garden. Her name was Molly and she was beautiful. A smile that made you melt and a sense of place that grounded any anxiety that might ever creep in. She had a special relationship with the earth and mud. In the garden she taught me to walk barefoot and squish the black mud between my toes. She said it released toxicity, but I always felt it cleared my mind. I think it’s because you feel much more with the soles of your feet that we give it credit. Mud gets so easily into every curve and crack that it becomes formed to the body. The textures of velvet and fine sand caress rather than repulse. Mud is never slimy, as many preconceive. It’s natural. Probably the closest to natural we as humans can get.
And yet we wash it off, like sins that our pride can no longer handle. A state of clean is more natural than a true connection to the earth.
We’ll wash the SUV tomorrow and the memories that were made over the long weekend will one day fade. But that is tomorrow. Today, when we get back into the city with our dirty SUV, stinking of smoke and sweat, I still honour the present , proud of the mud we brought with us.
Enzo, CANADA