the colour of our lives

poetry • celebration • faith • nature • humanity • imperfections • glory

walking feet

my feet were not made for concrete and asphalt, not for straight lines and perfect geometric curves; these are for machines, with wheels for feet – gear I’ll wrap around me when it suits; when I haven’t left enough time to go the distance, or the air is more hot or wet or cold than I prefer, and I have forgotten what my feet are for:

crushing the fragrant litter beneath them; gathering dew and grass and mud to remind my house what it shelters me from; carrying my brain slightly aloft at just the right height for thinking through my life; walking into love, walking around love, and (thwart me God!) walking away

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