P.S.

This afternoon I went to check on the unsupervised boots. It rained yesterday. Perhaps they had splashed themselves into some trouble. Perhaps I simply needed an excuse to visit the river.

From a distance I could see the black blob on the edge of the trail. I grinned. Perhaps my hypothesis was right. The boots' person clearly did not intend to return to their task masters. No one had picked them up for charity either. . . But wait! As my own shoes dragged me down the hill toward the dark spot I realized that something was amiss. There was but one boot, black as ever, white topped, lonesome, pointing its solemn nose across the river to the cornfield.

I could go on, about the necessity of delivering oneself wholly into the sprouting and green-thumbed hands of spring and giving up both boots and squishing into the freedom of mud under all ten toes rather than holding onto a piece of bondage. But that would be silly. Both boots were here two days ago. Something had clearly happened to one of them.

That was a good excuse too. I peered into the water on the right side of the trail. No boot. I scanned the shallows on the left side. No boot. I looked for it as I ran down to the river access point. No boot. And up the hill again. And then I forgot about it when I clambored back up through the tree across the trail, and ran back to my jealous homework. And I forgot about the woodchuck too...

And what of the woodchuck that waddled over the bank as I descended toward the boots, the plump fellow who impudently sat up on his haunches some five feet below the trail, by the stump of a fallen tree, and looked at me? What better witness could be found for the story of the strange disappearance of the boot?

I shall have to go see about that tomorrow.