Shoes

I look into the old box that holds my memories of my time in Uruguay, and I discover that shoes. They are old ugly worn out, having served their owner well. I smell the old leather, and the memories begin coming, taking me back in time. I take the shoes out, put them on the table, and study them.
They are made of rough, yet beautiful leather. The stitching on the top that once held the sides together has broken and allows the sides to fall away. Inside, there is a well-marked heel print, where the bare foot put its weight day after day. The sweat from the heel has left the leather a dark orange color. Forward, on the side, I see the mark that each toe has left; looking closer, I notice tiny holes where the leather has completely worn away.
The leather, once new, soft, and flexible, is now old, hard, and stiff, a result of the rains and countless Uruguayan floods. I count what is left of one, two four worn out soles that the shoemaker put on with such care. Each one has a slightly different color-brown, gold, beige, and tan. Looking between the different layers that have shrunken and separated from the rain, I observer the dried mud and tiny little rocks that have caught between the layers.
Some tell me to throw them away.” They are ugly. They take up too much space.” But I ignore them. My shoes are like a couple of good friends who have traveled with me on unforgettable journey. With a satisfied heart, I smile and return them to their box.