Water, Still in the Shoes
The water that got in yesterday was still there. The day won't begin unless I put them on, so I put them on as they were and stepped out the door. Today I decided not to wait for them to dry.
The water that got in yesterday was still there. The day won't begin unless I put them on, so I put them on as they were and stepped out the door. Today I decided not to wait for them to dry.
Still, I could see it shrinking a little with every step. The alley I crossed today had one puddle fewer.
Come to think of it, the alley has grown shorter by the time it takes shoes to dry. Today with every step I was feeling shoes lighter than yesterday's.
I'm sitting on the mat by the shoe cabinet when the person goes out in wet shoes. The door closes and the house grows quiet.
That quiet after the door closed was, for me, the first dry air I felt that day.
The shoes left in front of the laundry were holding yesterday's rain. Their owner smiled at me. The empty shoes will dry soon enough.