光る泥団子 (hikaru dorodango)

Last week, we were talking about 光る泥団子 (hikaru dorodango) which deeply resonated with me. I suddently remembered when I was living in 沖縄 Japan, I had a serious love affair with the reddish-orange clay that we had for soil. Normally it was hard as a rock, but brittle, the color of rusty iron, but when the rains came, it washed the clay down the hills making it soft as silk, and it became deliciously squishy. I would stand in the torrent of water that ran like a river past the driveway gate and let my toes sink in it's wondrously plastic stickiness.

I would also spend hours upon hours with my neighbor ゆみこ in her backyard hands and feet immersed in clay, making balls of varying sizes. They weren't as sophisticated as dorodango, but we put a lot of time and effort into making them.

I also remember constantly coming home, absolutely covered in mud, arousing the ire of my mother. Yes, children seem to instinctively love dirt (and I would add puddles and sticks to that list after spending a year babysitting Mansoor منصور ).

Most people grow out of this obsession with dirt. Those who can't or don't, often take up farming or the art of ceramics. To this day I still find the texture of clay absolutely satisfying and due to my strong affinity with the earth, and usually can be found with dirt caked under my nails and on my knees.