by Marion Boon
Again, there was a shoe laying on the highway.
This time it was a greyish-white sneaker. The type of sneaker a teenager would wear—or maybe a young man. It was used and no doubt the owner’s favorite shoe for a long time. It lay there with the tip headed crossing the road, almost toward the oncoming traffic. The shoe was opened, as if the owner’s foot had slipped out of it while running. But where would he have run to? There was nothing. This place is a silent swath of concrete highway, with flat meadows bordering both sides. In the distance there is a mountain ridge. Other than that, nothing, absolutely nothing anywhere closer than a few … Read the rest