For Just

It’s relatively easy to understand why certain decisions are easy, and others fall into the category of near impossible.

One that defies explanation in my limited world, but is almost innate is a difficulty in discarding old shoes.

Hats, gloves, sweaters and skirts are no problem whatsoever. Yet despite the age of condition of elderly footwear, I find it near impossible to say adieu.

Recently I decided (because closet space is always a need) I would donate one pair of weathered shoes to a nearby charity every week until only those I currently wear remain.

Today was the first day for my donation. I found a perfect box for the pair I selected. They were bought in San Diego, about twenty years ago, so they were long past their youth.

For an unknown reason, they were also a size smaller than what I now purchase.

However, and I say this in all modesty, they are incredibly beautiful.

The straps are parrot red, and seem to shine like those featured in the Wizzard of Oz.

However, they were not study like the famed ruby slippers, but fragile straps bound together with a huge mock diamond.

They were the shoes of magic, invoking dreams of dancing on clouds and listening to violins playing. I don’t quite remember how often I wore them, but they are still in quite good condition.

Shoes that invoke music age well because they are seldom worn but linger pristine and pure on closet shelves.

However, although today was the day I planned to donate them to another dreamer, I procrastinated too long.

Or to be utterly honest, I put a pair of sneakers in the perfect box, and thought I’d keep the slippers of my dreams for just another week.