Mudding

Driving home in my ‘92 Blazer, I turn to my sister with a smile and say,

“You know, ‘lil sis, it rained yesterday.”

She’s a little less enthusiastic than me, but I’m the one at the wheel

And putting a new brown coat on my rig is how I feel

I can’t recall too much from my teenage years what ever did beat dashing through the mud

With the radio up, sweet tea in the console and with my best bud

My sis lets her fear be known when we start sliding towards a tree

I just laugh, turn the wheel, gas, grin, ask, “What, you don’t trust me?”

I’m teaching my Blazer how to fly on the BLM on the way home

And trying to keep happy my unsatisfiable mud syndrome.

From all fours off the ground to three foot deep water stretches of dirt lanes,

I’m laughing and thanking God for Springtime rains.

After an hour or so, I bring my rig dripping with water and muck to the back country highway that takes us to our place

Big old smile on both of our face.

My sister never enjoyed it as much as I and scared fairly good,

But I trust my driving and what’s under the hood.

I’m happy to see you almost can’t tell my car was once white, that’s a sign of a job well done

And lets the whole world know I sure as heck had some fun.

But great as sliding through the mud is, it still isn’t the important part I’ll remember.

I’ll just always be glad for and it’s the memories with my sister I’ll always treasure.