Tracey

These are too special to wear outside, unless outside is a dry, only slightly dusty pavement in Buenos Aires. They are hand-made soft black satin, flower embroidered around the toes, with short thin heels that click as I walk. I cannot for the life of me remember where I found them. Was it in BA or a flamenco festival in Seville?

They are dancing shoes. Delightful, stepping, dancing shoes. My feet love them. They are stepping onto a stage, catching everybody’s eyes, a costume for the toes as beautiful as the dress. They take petit pas, delicate, considered placing steps and fly through the air, feathers at the tips of wing limbs.

I would walk barefoot and carry them in my arms rather than lose them to a puddle. I will have them my whole life and if I am buried, they will be there, pointing the way to heaven.