Out of this Earth

Nestled Together

Time and again, I'd come across them, nestled together, cozy against a day's hike, or gently resting after a warm shower, under the house's eave. Sometimes, having awakened in unison, I'd find our slippers, hours later, off to one side, awaiting the end of the day, together, patiently, and ever so welcoming. Chancing on these still lifes, these fleeting sketches, pairs of boots, flip-flops, sandals, shoes, slippers having found each other, miraculously nuzzled, even if only for a few brief moments, gave me  the purest sense of belonging. No matter our momentary struggles, or the latest test of marriage endured, they were tangible, undeniable proof we were meant to walk this Earth side by side. Your big furry paws slouched into your tattered brogues, as did my smaller, relatively daintier, woman's feet in mine. Facing the day ahead, these well-worn travellers through place and time carried a memory of who we were in each new moment, where we'd been, and when we'd returned to our homely, tidy existence. Over the years, I encountered these gratifying tableaux again and again, so simple as to take my breath away, always unexpected, yet so utterly ordinary. Plain as mug and spoon or discarded socks, whose daily exchanges never once spoke as directly to my soul. The honest-to-goodness truth of our shoes nestled together remains imprinted, long after we've gone our separate ways.