Lost Conversations in the Mud

"Have you seen my... hat?" mumbled Gertrude, eyes buried in oozing brownness.
A goat bleated in response.

"Porridge, the *sticky kind*, is a luxury here," Bernard exclaimed, swiping at bees.
"But *taste* is totally optional," nodded Mary, shrubbery clinging.

"In the ancient days," the elder whispered, "we used... to think... this was butter..."
Time slipped; the chorus of toads sang.

"What do you mean 'subscriptions'?" asked Ethel, puzzled by a scrawl.
"Mud monthly, dear. It's essential," she replied, turning the page.