Evening, Taking Off My Shoes
All day, with every step, the water moved inside my shoes. Something like a small puddle, shifting place with each stride, clung to the soles of my feet. When evening came and I took off my shoes, the damp insoles stuck to my feet and came away with them, and only as I pulled on dry socks did it occur to me that the day was over.
The umbrella I left outside the door is still dripping. Only when evening came did I hear that sound.
The morning after the rainy season ended, even while taking out airy slippers to wear, I checked the shoes I'd set out to dry last evening. Those shoes, set on the sunlit entryway floor, were already drying.
Seeing the damp spread where I'd left my shoes, I thought the path I took this morning had turned into footprints. It's already getting late outside, and the stiff insoles held up through the day quite faithfully.