Dirt We Grew Up In
On muddy hands, childhood afternoons, and a smell you never forgot.
You probably remember the smell before you remember the day.
It had just rained. The grass was wet. The ground was soft enough to dig into with your hands.
Holes were dug for no reason. Mud became pies, castles, whatever you wanted. Worms were discovered. Shoes were ruined.
Back then, getting dirty was the whole point.
The air smelled cool and green. Moss grew along the edges. And underneath it all, that unmistakable smell of wet earth.
Eventually, someone called you inside.
Shoes came off. Hands got washed. The dirt went down the drain.
Years passed. The holes filled in. The afternoons got shorter. Somewhere along the way, playing in the dirt became something you stopped doing.
But every now and then, it rains.
And for a second, you're right back there.
Funny how a smell can do that.
Or open a can of Dirt.
