Wet Shoes

This morning I walked in the forest after it had rained – through grass still glimmering wet and ground slick with mud.

Wandering through the rain’s remnants quickly saturated my shoes. Soaked my socks. Cooled my toes.

It was uncomfortable. Discouraging.

I could have turned around. Gone home and kicked them off right away, back to dry warmth and cozy familiarity.

But I didn’t. We carried on.

I don’t really mind wet feet. I would rather my shoes be soaked with adventure than sitting dry and idle by the door, wishing I’d just opened the damn thing and given them a purpose.

No. These shoes were made for walking. They were meant to get wet. To run wild. To be worn.

I would splash in puddles with these shoes. I would trudge through the mud with them. I would wade in streams with them.

Wet feet don’t scare me. Wet shoes don’t deter me.

These shoes and I – we welcome the wet.

The wet is worth it.

The wet means we have lived.