A big fat sonorous word,
it intrigued my ten year old mind.
The bumpy leather,
the clumpy soles
the ring of the heels on our flagged kitchen floor.
The very impressive weight of them
and knowing how much they cost.
He wore them for years
for work and for walks
many times heeled, re-soled,
dug in them
and pruned and hoed.
In my own middle years I wore them too,
and something of his spirit was transplanted
from Fermanagh to Donegal
as, making my garden, I talked to him
through their soles,
one gardener to another.
by Guy Stephenson (Ireland)
North West Words Magazine, Autumn 2013