These are my toes.
They’re pointed in the right direction. I never imagined I’d photograph my own toes. But like lips, youth and birth, the best way to avoid the awkward? Turn the camera on thy own self. It’s not as if I didn’t have access to toes – or cleats, at least – to beat all.
I have 30 toes in close proximity that belong in cleats, attached to three of the fiercest soccer playing girls I’ve ever known.
I wear these Star Wars Vans nearly every day. Yes, even Elise’s graduation day. See, I had them on one day at a familiar lake when words stopped me in my tracks and set my heart on a backward spiral I thought I’d never right.
I don’t have all the answers, still. Every day I slip my feet into these shoes reminds me that I’ve worn them in the dark and in the light and in the shadows in between. And whatever lies ahead, they’ll be on my feet then, too.
They’ve traversed rainy fields on moribund days. They’ve carried me as I’ve struggled to move. They’ve been on my feet during fleeter moments, too. They’ve kicked dust and collected sunshine and run and wandered and waited in line.
My toes, in these shoes, point the right direction.
Whether the steps thud with authority or crackle with uncertainty. The first steps came in them, and the next will too. These shoes evoke wonder in young boys and simple wonderment in women. Of all ages. (Why is he wearing those?)
Even lost, my toes point onward. To wherever trajectory carries me.