Perhaps it is the white cast left on the fading grass this frosty January morning. Or the crispness of the day that follows a cloudless night--and sparkles under bright, clean rays.
The newness of this year is almost palatable.
Like white sneakers, saved for the first day of school. Treasured for their promise of another beginning.
While last year’s, scuffed and worn, are moved to the back of the closet.
I remember fussing over them.
Loving them for being unmarked and wholly new.
Trying to preserve their whiteness.
Fearing the first smudge from another.
Until they, with each day, slowly became like all the others.
With stories told by the marks they bore.
wearing white sneakers again.
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