Worn Soles

~ by Rachel Shumacher, ELI Agriculture Intern

Today (Saturday) I sat under a tarp, brown from dirt and use, with what seemed like millions of holes in it, some big, some small. And light shone through the holes. Light and blue sky. And it struck me that those holes seemed like millions of twinkling stars, and the background of the tarp the deep night sky. Under this sky of tarp and holes I sat behind an old man with splashes of white intertwined throughout the frizzy black strands. The collar of his suit coat was frayed and threadbare at the neckline, a walking stick held loosely in his stiff crumpled strong black hand, the skin on his feet dry and cracked with age and caked with the dust of paths tread. On those feet were falling-apart sandals made of discarded tire fragments. And as he crossed his ankles underneath his white plastic armchair, I saw that the heels of his soles were worn on the outside edges... Just like mine.