When did I stop walking barefoot in the grass?
For whole summers I would spend barefoot. Mom made me put on my shoes saying, “You are going to step on a bee.” I put on my sandals only to take them off at my best friend’s house next door.
Barefoot we rode bikes, played Kick-the-Can, and searched for frogs in the grasses of Monster Lake.
This weekend, my feet hung off my blanket into the cool, itchy grass. My legs jumped back. Now why would I do that? I sunk my feet back until the green covered my ankles.
When did it become unnatural to touch the ground with my feet in places other than the beach?
Somewhere in my past, I put on shoes and other defenses. Just in case. Danger ahead.
Maybe it’s time to lay them all down.
Photo by One Nutty Mama