Inkwell 2018-2019

Drying Mud by Will Marin A long walk on a pebble beach ends in a swim in the brine. The pebbles hurt my feet, And the salt dries my skin. A short stroll on a wooded trail ends in a view of mountains;

snow capped peaks fall to wildflower fields. Their shadows cast themselves at my feet. A run through tall grass ends at the bank of a stream. Water dribbles down the meandering path. Mud pulls at my shoes. Time passes and shadows change.

Mud dries and pebbles are beaten to sand. The flowers wilt, making way for new ones. Time passes, and the stream cuts a new path through the soil.

Mackenzie Guillot