My one brother lives in Memphis. My other brother lives in Colorado Springs. We used to all work in my dad’s spackling company together. I hated spackling, but now that this season of my life is over, I look back on it longingly. I’m not sure, but I think I paint boots when I miss my brothers.
This is the part of the blog where an acoustic guitar starts strumming, James Taylor softly hums, and you get all teary eyed. Then, if you stare at my painting hard and long enough, you may just hear the voice of that narrator from the Wonder Years.
Funny how memories add the soapy thread of a boot lace, the lonely shadow caressing the companion boot, or, the thread of cigarette smoke…
Yes, whether we have poetic leanings or not, it seems that all of life is association. Which confirms, for me, that we are spirits, currently in a physical realm.
Ah a brother’s boot, the scent of worn leather, foot fungus and dog turd,,,, ever the romantic,dg