He is making a mud puddle.
Jumps in, squeals, delighted.
Hey! There is grass on my legs!
Sure is, I agree.
I’m DIRTY! Said in an accusatory way.
Yes, you are, I say.
He jumps in two more times, sloshing mud up his legs.
Looks at me. I smile.
His face turns serious.
He begins washing his legs with the slow cold water, coming...
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