Rumination on a pair of shoes
This morning, while on your jog, you notice a pair of shoes sitting on the side walk. You look around to see if there is a pair of feet that is meant for them. You see nothing. What an unusual place for them to lying in, you murmur before bending down for a closer inspection. The sole is slightly worn and the mouth somewhat askew. From where you are crouching, the trainers looks like two old men sleeping with their mouths wide open. Who could have cast off a perfectly good pair of shoes?, you wonder. Did she, in the middle of a fierce row with him, grab his shoes while aiming for a more crucial piece of clothing? And having grabbed them and yanked them off his feet, did she fling them out of the car? If so, how did they land next to each other? As if someone had placed them tidily, side-by-side. Or did someone out on a morning jog, full of philosophical rumination, see in a moment of blinding clarity, the futility of footwear and discard them by the sidewalk? Did he then go on cast off his other irrelevant possessions? His mobile phones, ipods and fabric softeners? What could have come over a person that he abandoned his shoes, arranged them neatly by the side of the road and carried on with the rest of the journey? You look up at the road ahead, you've still got a mile or so to run. You turn your back on the shoes and decide to walk instead.