Dedicated to my sister, Allyson.

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“Special Mark” is a bittersweet reflection on our childhood bond with the natural world. It was written a few years after my sister sustained a deep cut that eventually healed into a unique, natural tattoo on her lower back.

Back then, the mud was our ultimate playground, especially after a fresh rain. We would run straight into the storms, letting the heaviest downpours soak us to the bone as we played, danced, and shaped the clayey earth into little toys and treasures only children could imagine.

Our mud was clean and beautiful, a rich brownish or reddish clay. It was no surprise that the children of my era, growing up in my yard, took such pure pleasure in embracing the earth after the rain.

One unforgettable day in our teenage years, my sister and I joined in the thrill of mud sliding. A successful ride hinged on finding a sturdy tree branch that could support our weight as we raced down the hill. If we were lucky, like some of the other neighbourhood kids, we might even find a discarded piece of shiny vinyl carpet, perfect for gliding through the mud.

During one of our mud-slinging adventures, my sister lost her footing and slipped off her makeshift sled. Whether she was riding a branch or a scrap of carpet, I can’t quite recall. She tumbled hard, landing on a jagged rock or an exposed root that cut deep into her skin. It left a permanent mark—a lifelong “tattoo” from the wild, carefree days of our youth.

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Special Mark

Can you remember?
The days you played beneath
the golden apple trees,
Feet skimming across overripe leaves,
Each step pressing deeper into the thirsty earth.

Can you remember?
The days you lingered in their green shade,
Leaping, laughing, gathering fallen whispers,
Dipping them into the creamy mud
Like secret treasures waiting to bloom.

Wishing, waiting—
For the fruit that would make your heart sing.
But the season had not yet come.
Still, you gazed upward,
Just waiting.

And waiting became a game
Until the earth bit back.
Its teeth kissed your skin,
And only your tears flowed,
Watering the wound—

A special mark of childhood.

(c) jjf’25

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Thanks for reading! 😊