Remnants of a time when things were more muddy.

"I'll be home when I'm home" keeps playing loops in my head as though my brain's reel to reel is in some way broken.
Passing by what very well could have been my own tracks from a more soggy time, I reflect on 'hero dirt' and how the shape-shifting sandy soil could at any moment throw me off course, challenging me to scramble and maintain my uprightedness.
I love the summer but am always longing for the Spring.