Growing up in a pair of Montana shoes taught me how to slip free of rainy days and flooded pathways. Once Montana mud gets on your feet the weight of your present moment steals every inch of air from the shape of your lungs. Georgia clay has a way of staining but Montana mud creates a path that invites others to know where you are in every moment delivered. Not always a good thing. Missing from most people's lives is the purity of pure. Not holy or greater than. But waters that evenly flow through the Cyprus gardens of South Carolina. It's the deepest of dark. Beyond black. And yet when you are up close and personal with the presentation there's no question. It's some of the freshest water in the country. How? It looks like poison! What does this have to do with Montana mud? Up north you know who's making your waters murky. In South Carolina every element on the planet has access to making those waters a terrible place to be but it doesn't. Where in your wandering did you pick up that Montana mud? How can you take what you've already lived and purify its purpose to the point of accepting it? Is it as simple as being spiritual or religious, knowing to be fully accountable for each journey of choices and decisions that govern the soils capable of making water murky. How do you convince your mind body and soul to study the beauty in something very ugly?