The cold weather lately where I live reminded me of the antics I would get into playing in the yard as a child. This is loosely inspired by that.

My foot reached out to touch the surface of the sodden garden bed. It was hard to not fling myself into it with my usual eight-year-old’s excitement. All the vegetables had been pulled this late in the season, and five days of back-to-back rain had left it flooded all morning. Once the water had soaked into the earth, I stood at the edge where the lawn ended and slowly put my weight on the surface.

Cool mud bowed up around the sides of my foot and squished between my toes. With my pants rolled up above my knees, I pushed down and watched the rich brown mud envelop my foot. The sole of my foot met when felt like the bottom, deep enough I couldn’t see anything below my ankle. A grin spread across my face, as the excitement became too much.

I withdrew my foot and bent my knees. With a cry, I jumped as far as I could and plunged into the mud.


Spatters of mud flew out all around me. Flecks dotted my shirt and face. To my surprise, my fingertips brushed he surface of the mud. After my wild leap, I’d landed so deep in the mire that had once been a garden that I couldn’t even see me knees.

When I tried to lift my leg, a wet squelch sounded out, but I couldn’t move more than an inch. Cold leeched the heat from my feet and left them tingling. Second and third attempts were no more successful and only resulted in a great deal of wobbling around. It seemed I had gotten myself well and truly stuck.

No need to panic. I had a super power that could fix anything.

Taking a deep breath, I yelled as loud as my small lungs would allow. “Mom! I got stuck in the mud again!”

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