Who wouldn’t want to stomp on iced-over puddles, feel that delicious crackle as you splash through to mud underneath?
Who wouldn’t want to pick up pieces of glass-like ice, feel them fall to smaller pieces in your hands, see if the shards will float or sink?
Who wouldn’t want to drag around the biggest stick you can, knowing you will need it to poke at some leaves or swish in the water?
Who wouldn’t want to run and yell and discover?
When your face is numb with cold, your boots filled with water, your mittens caked with dirt you can grumble all the way back to a warm house with the joy known only to kids who have played hard. That’s how you have fun.’
The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful. `e.e. cummings