There stands one lone, black, leather shoe. The shoe itself has been around for a
generous amount of time. Upon further
inspection of the shoe, one may notice the wear of that time on its very
skin. Its toe shows the roughness caused
by several gentle kicks to a door, or perhaps to a table leg. A small indent marks the place above the toe,
an indent that appears on many long-worn shoes, an indent whose creation is a
mystery. Moving further along towards
the tongue, the wrinkles in the fine leather skin, punctuated by minor
scratches and frayed stitching, tell the tale of a thousand steps taken. The shoe is wise beyond its years, having
witnessed funerals, weddings, and endless days of education. Death.
New beginnings. Life itself is
engrained in the shoe’s exterior. Its
sides are marred by a dozen scuff marks: scrapes against walls, attacks from
other shoes, and every day wear and tear.
The tongue has become distorted over the years. It is crisscrossed by one long, woven lace
made of synthetic fibre coated with a friction-increasing agent. It ripples under the varying movements of the
lace and its leather has become smooth and fragrant. The underside of the tongue is something of a
curiosity. Beige in colour, the black
inner stitching holding the leather together becomes much more apparent and a
printed phrase dominates its centre. The
words, not likely understood by their producer, read ‘Fabrique en India’ and
underneath, ‘Made in India.’ They speak
of a land far from the shoe’s current home and are a reminder of its long
journey across the continents. It tells
of a growing globalization of economy.
Ironically, the country of origin holds the cow, giver of life to the
shoe, sacred. The interior of the shoe
is dark, mysterious, and generally foul-smelling. It is the home of the shoe’s sole. It is the heart of the shoe and its binding
piece; all of the shoe’s activity relies on this one long, uninterrupted
conglomeration of leather, rubber, and other artificial materials. The beige colour has been darkened by endless
days of rubbing against a black sock and shallow impressions mark the resting
place of the mighty shoe’s passenger, the foot.
The foot carries a strange towering figure far above the shoe, leading
him over mountain, valley, grove and plain.
Seemingly, the shoe is under this figure’s control: he determines where
the shoe will go and how long it will be in his service. Ultimately, the shoe will leave the
possession of this figure and continue on with its own journey. It will be ‘discarded,’ perhaps travelling to
a new owner, perhaps ending up in a heap of other discarded possessions. Where will it be in ten years? One hundred?
One Thousand? In the end the shoe
will disintegrate and return to nature.
It’s essence, the very atoms that make up the molecular structure of the
shoe may one day build a towering blade of grass, be consumed by a cow and the
cycle will begin anew. A shoemaker of
the future will look into the field and say, “There stands one lone, black cow
fit for a leather shoe.”