Flying Feet



Flying Feet


I'm gathering up my toes and my want with them–my want to walk, to take graceful steps in life even if at times I may stumble. I suddenly realize how much I have curled them under, squeezing my whole leg with them. Sometimes the length of my big toe throbs, or there are quivers following the long side of my arch. 

All I have to do is stretch my toes out, let them know that they are being listened to. If I step out distributing the pressure on all toes they feel better. They grip the ground and delight in its roughness or smoothness. It's when I don't pay attention to them that they suffer.

My feet are long and thin like my father's. They are slight and my toes form a perfect angle. They could be considered "attractive" even with the thickness of my big toe nail and the slight scar as a signature across my left foot.

I never really know where my feet might bring me–only my head and maybe my past know that. I feel like my feet glide with their own purpose. Maybe they do.

Soon they will be pushing up a mountain, and then soaking up the sun so they will become golden brown. Surely, once they press the sand outside our new home they will delight in the freshness of island water.

My feet can't keep covered for long because they are itching to explore. Just two more weeks, and they will literally be flying.



Photo: <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/pezibear-526143/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=7247907">Petra</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=7247907">Pixabay</a>

Text: Kristen Mastromarchi

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