If I close my eyes, in the right way, on the right day, I can look down and see my feet.

Not like they are now. But like they were then. The scale quite different. The toenails basically torn off, because when mom cut them it pinched. A scab or two from stepping on something sharp. Hard as hell on the underside from not wearing shoes all summer long. Sunburned on the top because it was before the days of sunblock.

I remember how it all felt- the world through my feet. Dry, warm dust from the dirt road in front of the house. Cold mud pushing between my toes. Damp cold grass- green-black in the dark. The sand in my sandbox- warm on top, damp underneath. The scalding hot paving stones on the patio. The compressed scratchy carpet in the living room. The smooth painted wood of the stairs. The grainy roughness of the sidewalk. There was a world under my feet.

And every day I was going to travel further in it. I just didn't expect my feet to change so much, and shoes to become a necessity.