confessions of a barefoot cippy*

Bare booted

* pronounced sippy = CIty hiPPY I disdain shoes. Detest them. They crumple your feet and stop you feeling the earth beneath them, the grass, the cool tiles, the sand between your toes, the rocks and stones on a gravel path. But, I wear them. No-one ever takes you seriously barefoot. Not the lovely old lady on the street, nor the suited up salesman in the café. Especially not when you're wearing jeans and a business shirt. Not clients, not managers, not, well almost not, anyone. Children take you as seriously as children can.

Children look at you and recognise that part that's not yet dead. That's not been ground away and hidden behind the mortgage and the credit card. That part that still beats and climbs and jumps and laughs and smiles and dances in the rain.

My mum also told me to always wear shoes, outside (never inside). You need to protect your feet from the grass, the cool tiles, the sand, the rocks and stones on a gravel path. My mum likes to make sure we're safe.

Today I'm not wearing shoes. I forgot them. I'd worn three pairs of shoes before breakfast, and I'll wear no more for the rest of the day. Shoes to strengthen my feet, protect them, strengthen me. Shoes for running, cycling, climbing. Shoes for everything but.. work.

Sure, I could put on the 2.5kg steel cap boots sitting under my desk but I'd rather feel the grass, the cool tiles, the sand, the rocks, the hot road, the looks of disdain and the shared wonder of a child recognising another.

My naked feets