The old ways
of being afraid
are beaten in and comfortable;
weathered, old leather boots.

Yesterday, unaware,
I put them on when I stepped down from bed.
My stomach burned and rebelled at breakfast -
a desperate attempt at a sensitive SOS
from my omnipotent body too often unheard...
I limped to work alongside my lovely partner
through the cool, verdant summer air
but the cat had my tongue
and I dragged my heavy feet.

Later the fear was exposed naked
as untrue, unnecessary, a farce
- as the spinster its always been -
and what did it?

I showed up imperfect
and vulnerable and present
to the very place I felt an imposter.
I felt power and love - life -
surge through my flowing blood,
my eyes clear to meet those around me,
body light and and leaning on the ***** of my feet,
and the armor around my heart failed
with warm wholeness seeping in,
(that feeling children know, and grandma too)
and I realized
I'd taken those boots off.

This morning I'm taking note.
Today I'll try to walk the world
with bare feet.