Don,

Your shoes seemed accustomed to the outdoors, so I took them on a walk in the hills behind my house. When I first tried them on in your house, they felt comfortable, if just a little too large. As I took the first few steps out of my house to the trailhead, I noticed how snugly they held my Achilles tendon. The insoles have that well-formed feeling that I always miss when I try on a new pair of shoes. Except, my feet do not quite line up with the space that yours have formed. This slight misalignment gives these shoes a familiar, yet wholly foreign feel; a sort of shoe-déjà-vu, if you will.

By the time I made it out for my walk, the only evidence of the morning rain was a puddle or two and a sharp fresh small in the air. Dark clouds still lingered, but they had broken enough to allow some late afternoon sun to catch the edges of the hills. Of course, I couldn’t quite make out the precise border between the sky and the ground, because (after staring at the computer for most of the day) I had forgotten to put on my glasses. The landscape just looked a little softer; it didn’t matter too much that the trees no longer had individual leaves. My near-sightedness certainly startled a small herd of deer, but they didn’t seem to be in big hurry to leave.

As I walked, I had time to think about how much I enjoyed your presentation and explanation of each pair of shoes that you own. References to clothing as portrait abound, but the chance to hear you tell about each shoe’s importance (or unimportance) to you felt completely sincere and satisfying. Each step left me with the sensation of a good handshake; I had an awareness or pressure, but not of the crushing or uncomfortable variety. After I completed the mile, my arches were definitely sore, but no blisters or lasting damage.

Thank you for the opportunity to walk a mile in your shoes.

 

Sincerely,
Sara, shoe borrower