I’ve been out walking in pouring down rain. For some it’s a gloomy day — to me, it’s glorious. How could it not be with so many memories in every step.
Geared up in my world-traveled LOWA boots — the right toe box with a slight slit cut from The Great Wall. These puppies have walked miles in The Louvre. Worn well through the halls of Versailles. Kicked backed comfortably on a train bound for Italy — looks up, “Oh, The Matterhorn” — recalling my Swiss Army knife from youth — with the mountain’s image in its side.
Emptied Africa’s sands from the dunes of Namibia — filled all the more from skipping the beaten-down path so typically taken — opting to go my own way — up the side where no man had stepped before. Not so tough — after all, I rolled down the other side with the spirit of a child. Of course, I was trying to induce vomiting — so there’s that. ;o) I was not yet purified even after all the throwing up I had done the night before — and not even my trusty Gerber flashlight could spot the jackals howling all around me. No sleep, no food, stomach twisted sick, and weak as ever — but dig deep I did (though the issue was never really in doubt).
Boots that bicycled with BooBoo in Holland — the lovely legend she is. We stepped inside Anne Frank’s Amsterdam. How could I have missed reading her story for so long?
Dined in Scotland with a fine young Russian — this very outfit has been. She barely spoke a word of English — but I’ll never forget her smile and the soothing sound of her delicate voice.
All alone on a mountainside in torrential Scottish rains (boots caked in mud) — mattered not, for I was cozy in my wonder — while wrapped in gear that eagerly awaits such weather. Getting dark while looking back at the lake down below — cue the Braveheart soundtrack — as I continue onward and upward.
Atop Monument William Wallace — I basked under Scotland’s Son — blue sky and crisp clouds — wiping away what was hiding them 5 minutes before. I can still hear the wind so loud — whipping away at my jacket, it still stood no chance.
I can still see the image of those girls at Stonehenge — the greatest picture I ever missed. Cross-legged on the grass, in unison all 4 — pretending to be in a ritual of worship — it was some sight to see. In my trance of observation — I failed to grab my phone fast enough.
Priceless moments many more — as I abuse my Yoda-speak — and who knows what’s next for my footwear so refined — yet so gritty.
One Voice Became Two 