Socks that were a Deer

June 26, 2012 by , under Larger Forces at Work.


I bought one pair of new black sneakers and twelve pairs of new white socks.  Now, my old work shoes get tossed, my current “good” shoes become my work shoes, and my new shoes become my good shoes.  The old socks – all with holes for heels – become useful, white cotton rags.

Eventually, they too will collapse out of this temporary function, return to Earth, grow into something new, and continue being useful.  Those old socks already carry the atomic memory of being part of a Deer, a drink next to a campfire, a pre-historic Crustacean, part of an abode, a Mosquito caught in amber, and dust that blew over the feet of someone who was lost.



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