Stone In My Shoe
I wonder sometimes, if I’m just made of brittle bones. I’m under a whole pile of little stones- all dumped from the inside of my walking shoes. For every mile put under my feet, there’s another that the low-tide blues, the lack of light or the sound of low thunder has caused me to shun. Little twinges always make me rethink where I’m bound and I’ve paused to shake another pebble out. Later, I've found myself running full-out in directions I never had the mental maps forâ€"whole sections of time with rhythm, but no rhyme, and gaps in memory after-----
Is it fate or fear that makes me stop, then veer away at top speed from the road to the top of a blind hill? Is it instinct or will that makes me heed the stones in my shoe?
It seems true that there were turns I should have taken, but never had the guts to limp that way- And that must be why in dreams, I walk barefoot under endless blue sky with complete trust that I won't fall, and there are no stones at all.
Constance Lessard
