Mud & Childhood

I knew what childhood smelled like. 
It smelled like wet, freshly turned soil, 
like the minerals, once concealed, 
drawn from the earth— 
a billion shards of the fossilized dead. 
Childhood was the smell of soft mud 
that looked and felt like chocolate syrup, 
whipped and stirred with just the right 
amount of water. It was course mud 
that could be packed and molded, 
rolled into a ball and chucked. 
And that whiff of the dark
earth's dampness, nature's pollutant, 
stagnant in the humid summer air— 
that belonged to my childhood. 
It was not just the smell of the earth, 
it was the earth unturned, 
shifting onto its back, revealing 
the smothered underbelly of all things 
decomposed and brought 
into the open again.

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Another Photo Shoot With the Helders

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“Sometimes when you pick up your child you can feel the map of your own bones beneath your hands, or smell the scent of your skin in the nape of his neck. This is the most extraordinary thing about motherhood - finding a piece of yourself separate and apart that all the same you could not live without.” 
― Jodi Picoult, Perfect Match

“A child playing with its father screams louder, laughs harder, jumps more eagerly, puts more faith in everything.” 
― Lydia Netzer

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Drew & Corrine

Some photos to share: my sister and her family. 

The kidos too:

 - Brayden

 - Maelyn

 - Trennan

Some good memories. xoxo

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