Dark soles

Look, he said, proudly. Black on black on black. They won’t show anything. 

Five days of walking filled all their crevices. Not at home but abroad, on the slopes of modestly sized mountains and down service roads. There was welcome rain during one day and two nights that filled the guts carved into the clay and didn’t penetrate. The texture of buttercream but not the colour. I smashed the black soles on the edge of the small front stair. 

A trip into town relieved some of the pressure. There was rain there too but it was more a rinse than a soak. The creamy lime stains on the laces washed away. The resistance provided by paved surfaces worked thin lines of grout from the cracks but there was excess. It had been applied like fondant, liberally, on the level that held my foot above the earth. In the airport lounge with the travellers who had come from places with firmer ground, it remained visible. I rubbed each toe cap against the commercial grade carpet. Black on corporate blue.

In the side street that bends with the house named Trial and Error, the residue finally gave way. The stones were smooth under foot and it was pouring. It didn’t take any effort. I came home clean.