Oh the places they've been, those old shoes.

Once, like me, they were brand new and shiny. The possibilities were endless. They could journey anywhere and everywhere, laced up tight and taut and ready to run. And run they did. And so much more.

They trod across gravel and grass, boards and boardwalks and streets, both wet and dry and snowy and hot. They ran from one basket to the other, from first to second to third and home. And then home again.

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They sat in school, these shoes did, and they learned and laughed and got into a little trouble, too. A lace would loosen and drag for a bit, but then it would be tightened back up and be ready for more. Always more.

More work and play. And play and play. Those old shoes, they would smile and cry, sometimes at the same time. They worried and worshiped and wandered to new places and new times.

They went everywhere, explored the world. At least the world they knew and loved and maybe sometimes didn't love. They walked with Mom to church and walked next to a pretty girl in first grade. They walked through corn cribs and capitals and cobwebs.

And mud puddles. Always finding the mud puddles.

And those shoes, those magical shoes, they never got old. Except of course, they did. They didn't jump quite as far, didn't run quite as fast, didn't climb quite as high. But they were still good shoes. They were good experienced shoes, they were.

And so these shoes rested a bit, moved a little slower, a little more tentative. There were new shoes now you see, and they shone brightly just like these old ones did so many years ago. And the new shoes will travel on journeys too, places they've never been, see things they haven't seen.

And the old shoes, the comfortable ones that fit so very well?

They'll still take a journey every now and then. Because there are still roads that need to be walked on, still paths that need to be crossed.



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