Mud
She dropped the shovel and stood with her hands on her hips. The dirt was hard as rock, thanks to the drought. The creeks were all but dried up, and with dried up creeks comes hard work. Taking care of twelve horses on a dwindling ranch with no help from her dried up husband, Jocelyn was used to strong-backed labor and was accustomed to being covered in dirt. She hoisted herself out of the hole, blonde ponytail sticking to her sweat-drenched, dirt-smeared forehead. Even in the dead of night the summer humidity was enough to suffocate on. She sat her dusty Wranglers on the edge and dangled her feet into the cavity. A weeks’ worth of digging. She was down-near covered in dirt. She grabbed the water bottle from behind her and got a swallow’s worth of lukewarm water to quench her dry throat. She ran her gloved hand across her dried lips and tasted salty earth as she slid her tongue across them. The cool mud it created across her lips almost felt like a balm.