In these boots, these high heeled boots, there is frisson of joy that wiggles within me, escorting me back to childhood days. Perhaps it's a bit corny to say they elevate my soul as they elevate my soles - but I love them. In fairness, I buy boots that last and buy them rarely. A good pair can always be re-soled and re-healed.
These boots have trodden so many paths, some made by the feet of others over the years, some new. They are the same as those worn by so many around these parts, strong leather the colour of oak, laced tight to give support right up to the knee. Yet these boots are my own and I have become quite attached to them, they bring a sweet joy, a comfort, the sort familiarity and routine can bring.
Upon the wooden planks was an aged pair of brown leather boots, and all the more beautiful for it. There was a softness in the creases, a paleness at the toe and a heel that had seen much countryside. I hadn't seen my love for so long, and it was odd to think of her so close yet out of sight. She must have come here in those boots, walked so many miles, seen so much. Yet I suppose we are like those boots, old and worn, well travelled, yet all the more loved for those signs that we have lived and served our purpose well.
These lace up boots hug my legs keeping them quite warm and allowing me the indulgence of enjoying these wintry days.