A vignette by Fred Leeds
There was nothing I liked better as a boy than the arrival of new shoelaces. They came attached to whole shoes, of course, but I liked the laces even better than the shoes. The shoes seemed already broken in somehow – like their heels, decidedly and irretrievably built: The laces, however, were ribbons of new life …
That is what the soul’s hidden hope is like: a funny, seemingly impractical thing, a will-o’-the-wisp on which everything depends. Like an old brown shoe, the world seems can seem unchanging, heavy and forever the same. The individual human mind – my creative awareness – completes that old shoe of a world like a pair of fresh laces, tying new bows of possibility above time’s finished step.
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