The boots sit there a life unto themselves. And until she moves them they will stand guard, at the door. Many fences have felt their weight. Livestock lifted their heads to familiar steps. And a little girl knew them as the ride across the dance floor. Character graces the leather. And a character they carried for many years.
His boots came to mind when watching the old priest rubbing his worn black book. It had carried him through life, just like Jonas’ boots. Both mellowed by tears, scarred by loss, and forged by burdens few saw. All said and done, love, a passion for what they believed in, graced the leather, a final patina.
No comments:
Post a Comment