Summer is well upon us, so here's a new offering from Charlie.
We hope it brings you some happy memories.
By Charles Patrick Norman
Those unfortunates whose lives began in cities,
whose mothers strapped sandals and shoes onto
their pudgy little feet before they could walk,
to protect them from contact with the floor,
As their world expanded to sidewalks and parks,
keeping their tender toes insulated from the ground
upon which they sought to run and play and live,
have never known the country joys of running barefoot.
The first steps on a cool hardwood floor connect
the child with its Earth Mother, sensations flowing
freely to the tactile centers that say it is safe,
no shoes could convey the thrill of morning dew
on grass washing bare feet before the rising sun
dries them, replaced by the warm earth’s caress
on tender feet that quickly toughen with use,
or the ouch, ouch of noonday sand that urges them along.
No child shod with Nikes or Adidas will ever
feel the embrace of creek mud between their toes,
or the relief of wading ankle-deep in running water
as curious minnows tickle their feet
with tiny mouths, then scatter as the child wades deeper.
Wet tennis shoes will never dry in the sun
like bare feet on a grassy river bank, communing
with nature, awaiting their Maker, who we meet barefoot.