Soles

Taking the usual route to my desk this morning, it appeared again so big, bright and green, fluttering and flipping in the breeze as I ducked in-between foot commuters to make a picture of it. Some of these folk marched, some trudged, others sauntered, scuffed or pottered. All moving somewhere, soles of their feet covering ground and creating some distance between them and something behind. 

If the soles of our feet could tell stories, what sort of stories would yours tell? 

I hope they do not speak about numb walks to and from things that are never expected to be different. Are the souls of your feet willing explorers, ready to be planted? I hope they speak of soil and seeds, soft grasses and spaces to grow. Maybe they would speak about pounding miles and miles on hard tracks, the harder they fall the more aggressive—and not necessarily satiated—the heart's desire, and if this was me I would try to heed it as a warning and lighten my step. Would they talk of restless wanderlust that means my feet never know what ground they will navigate next, and would they say there was no pattern to this journey? Perhaps the soles would tell about discovering beautiful, extraordinary lands and homes.

Every footfall is an arrival. I talk about soles like this, and what I'm really saying is that I think it's important to be present, and stop being so focussed on where you're going that where you are fails to captivate you. Pace out the love-filled opportunity in every step.

On the street this morning we were all on a mission of some sort. Some wondered what my pavement mission was, casting a subtle glance to see what piece of crap on the floor was so captivating. That often happens, and I try to remember they haven't seen the forty-nine other times this has happened so they may think it is strange, but they have no idea how I feel.

Three over two days; a thought for my adventuring, loved-up soles and what it does for my here and now.

{Today's Soundtrack: Feist - The Reminder}