25 September: I won’t get far in these shoes. New, they are. My feet are little piggies. Pink and squealing. But I will them on, walk walk, to go on, just like the seasons. Surprising that the leaves are turning overhead. Seems too soon. Most have fallen on the autumn grass, crinkly and twisted as barbed wire, and the creek has gone silent – it’s a stoney bed, pale and dry. There were crayfish in that creek this summer. Boys wading around and catching them in buckets. Cat food, one boy told me. The only thing in that creek now are summer memories. I don’t like this time of year. Sunlight is too low to fill the spaces. Things are dying and rotting into a mere suspicion of what they were. September’s end-cuts. It’s like when everyone stands and leaves their seats. And we’re all waiting for the meaning of it all. Are shoes like knickers – you can’t return them? I’m not sure my feet will ever cope with these shoes.
A few random thoughts. Written for25/9/21 SOCS (near or far). Photo taken in July 2021 in the Cowdry Forest. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021