These Boots Are Meant For Walking

Paul had nothing to put his name on but a ragged shirt and a used pair of jeans. His shoes had more holes than fabric in them and he could barely stay warm in the frosty weather of the mountains with his buttonless wool coat.

What mostly got to him was not the cold and not the hurtful blisters which were formed on his feet. He had learned to live with these. What really bothered him was the looks on people's faces. The look of pity and disgust. The looks were more difficult than the hunger and there were times he thought the hunger would consume him.

One day, on his way back from the quarry, he had stumbled upon a pair of brand new boots. Just standing on his path, exactly at the point where the daffodils grow and the butterflies fly and the birds sing for him every day and paint the way with colorful colors of hope.

The boots were exactly his size and were made out of the softest leather he had ever touched in his life. Softer than the silky fur of the rabbit who warms him at night.

Paul had put on the boots and walked happily home.

At the foot of the mountain, next to the stream, stood a beautiful woman with wings coming out of her spine. She smiled and thought to herself: "These boots are meant for walking - by angles".


--Time's up--