He Wore Brogans

He smelled of the earth, of soil, of the outdoors. His heart would beat to the rhythm of the land. He wore boots and brogans and a hat. He was a farmer.

I wish I had his old brogans. I’d like to slip my feet into them and lace them up. I’d like for my toes to rest on the marks made my his toes, my heels on the faded spots made by his. I’d like to walk in his brogans and talk to his spirit.

Photo by Patrick Ireland

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