Monday, January 3, 2011


I hugged them to my chest. They had seen better days, but without them, I never would have. I pulled them away and looked at them. There once smooth curved tops were tattered. In one place, the soft brown leather had turned brittle and crumbled away. There was a tear half way up in one of the boots. It probably measured an inch and a half long. The heels were beaten, worn down by constant wear. A memory of rocking unsteadily as I walked home from a late night party swiftly went through my mind. One of the buckles was missing while the other that held on by a literal thread was tarnished and gritty. Sighing deeply, I blew out a small stream of air. It would be a big job, one that would need to be done quickly.

Quietly, I carried the boots into the garage, grabbing a sponge and bottle on the way. In the cold and dark of the large room, I began to repair them as best I could. It took a few weeks. Minutes stolen from other priorities and when I knew no one would notice, but finally they were completed. They were shorter, the tops not being salvageable, and the buckles were different. The leather was softer, cleaner, brighter. They weren't the same, but they were now capable of rescuing me once again.

I slid them on after dinner. The left heel still rocked slightly, causing a slightly different echo than the right when I walked. They fit my feet beautifully. It was obvious they hadn't forgotten me. Satisfied, happy really, I pulled on my old pea cot and picked up my over stuffed satchel. Never looking back, I walked from the large house and even larger demands. "Yep," I thought. "These boots are made for walking."

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

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