Measuring Time

I’ve had the same sturdy, weather-proof boots since 2015 and they’re still going strong. The laces, however, need to be replaced every couple of years, their threads unraveling against metal eyelets, their weave loosened by highly contrasting wet and dry, frigid and warm conditions.

I look forward to wearing my boots because I melt in warm temperatures, burn immediately, vampire-like, when exposed to direct sunlight, and because I’m allergic to all of nature. Cold weather kills my pollenating enemies and tilts the planet so that the sun’s deadly beams skim along the surface rather than beating down aggressively and oppressively.

My boots symbolize that annual transition to safety, but the process of keeping them in working order also helps me mark time; it’s been another couple of years. Huh! Picking up new laces is irregular enough (sometimes it’s one year, sometimes three) that I can’t set my watch (or calendar) by it, but it does tend to align with other significant changes in my life.