Walking among the California redwoods, drifting blank-brained on a break from college, I got to thinking about shoes. I can’t say why, exactly. Perhaps it was because they were touching my feet.
My own shoes were performing admirably, I must admit. I was trudging on mud and bugs and roots and who knows what without feeling much of anything.
And that, I realized in a flash, was a problem. Not that I had been stepping on gross stuff and snuffing out the lives of little things that, frankly, may not have deserved it. The problem was that I really couldn’t tell.
Life and death and dog poop — it all basically felt the same underfoot.
greener than Eden, a shock of bliss to see just past the stew and suck of reeking waters, the earth ate sunshine under the olive trees.
Noah, his wife, their sons, their daughters rushed to lower the gangplank. Awkward, long doubled, unboxed & jostling, the passengers suddenly freed hustled uncoupling ashore to uncouple, suddenly free.