The last of summer’s dirt has been washed clean from my feet.
I have spent the past three months happily free of shoes.
It is the season to experience life clear down to the very bottom of my soles.
I have walked in cool water along a glistening lake shore.
I have dug my toes deep in warm or wet sand.
I have bruised and scratched my feet hiking up boulders but also have sunk them into smooth river rocks which crackle as I step.
My summer feet get to walk on dirt; fresh dirt from mother earth that puffs up dust as I move along.
I have run up and down nature’s carpets on grassy hills and stopped to make splashes in sprinklers with my toes.
I wriggle my bare feet in swimming pools and kick up beads of water.
I walk on warm decks or rest them on picnic blankets.
I hop on hot roads.
I sink in wet mud.
I use my bare feet to massage kitty’s back.
My heels crack. My toe gets stubbed. I get splinters that need to be removed. I pull pine cone needles from my heels and remove sap or tar with mayonnaise.
I spend evenings soaking them in warm baths or rubbing them with fragrant lotions.
But the summer dirt never seems to wash completely away until the season ends.