Enzo
Life is so much easier with longer limbs and hands that can do more than cling to whatever is small enough to fit within teeny tiny little fingers. Enzo doesn't rightly recall the process of growing up, but he also doesn't rightly care. Mud is far better appreciated at eight than eight weeks.
It's perhaps still a little too cold for shorts, especially at the water's edge, but their mother had eventually decreed that skin was easier to clean than clothes and sent them off to do as they pleased. She's somewhere at the top of the bank, doing whatever it is moms do, but her shrewd eyes don't deter Enzo from his adventuring. Because mud, for whatever reason, likes to move now.
Books and the like could inform him that this is called memory mud, but experimenting with hands (and feet) is far more enjoyable. "Flora, look!" his high voice carries over the burble of the river as he sinks his hand into the blob of mud, and giggles with fascination as it begins to climb towards his elbow stubbornly.
It's perhaps still a little too cold for shorts, especially at the water's edge, but their mother had eventually decreed that skin was easier to clean than clothes and sent them off to do as they pleased. She's somewhere at the top of the bank, doing whatever it is moms do, but her shrewd eyes don't deter Enzo from his adventuring. Because mud, for whatever reason, likes to move now.
Books and the like could inform him that this is called memory mud, but experimenting with hands (and feet) is far more enjoyable. "Flora, look!" his high voice carries over the burble of the river as he sinks his hand into the blob of mud, and giggles with fascination as it begins to climb towards his elbow stubbornly.
and though I can't recall your face
I've still got love for you
I've still got love for you
