who we are and all that we're trying to be
It didn’t take long to fill his container, the vessel once hollow and empty, now holding wriggling masses of mud, striving to flow over the top of the brim, make their evasions and escapes. Luckily, the boys and Phoebe had seemingly finished theirs too, and the swing of his gaze settled upon the street, noting no other bounding formations. Perhaps they’d completed this aspect of their mission.
At their approach, he gave them his full attention, making careful claims to inspection, quiet, observant, noting a nod of approval to each child and his bucket. Their earlier trials, tribulations, and troubles had already been forgiven; little need for irritation or exasperation with minor mishaps and childish antics. Despite their mess, they’d accomplished their task, and deserved praise for their efforts. “Well done,” a gruff rumble, regard, esteem, and respect extended to the youths. “Now,” he paused, crouching down so he could meet them eye-level, resting his arms and hands across his thighs. “Can you use your strength to help me put the mud elsewhere?” He’d intended to toss the muck and mire out into the ether, somewhere else, out of the streets and domiciles, perhaps back into a forest, glade, or amidst some other puddle formations, where they belonged.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
