Speaking of boots...

Dorky Ode to an Old Pair of Boots

Laces gripped in creased old grommet rust

Crunchy with dirt from countless woodland romps

Gore-Tex and arches long objects of trust

Exuding a cloud-like memory dust

Missing aglet remembrance of kitten

Now grown up lazy supercilious cat

Bottoms with divots toes nestle in

Lugs on soles worn impossibly thin

Now resting forlornly in entryway

Odor prompting disbelieving glance

In their sad state they've no further gambols

But I haven't the heart to throw them away

On our first High Peak adventure up Seymour I suffered a serious emotional blow:  my beloved old hiking boots bit the dust.  Slightly less than 1/2 way through a rather long trip, the Gore-Tex in the left boot gave up the ghost, and gave it up spectacularly.  Of course, I then proceeded to step down in the wrong spot and pour icy mountain stream water directly down the back of my ankle and into my right boot.

Squish.  Squash.  Squish.  Squash.

I am hoping the boot gods will be merciful on me - thus far the replacements aren't measuring up.  But can I really expect them to?  After all, they do have big boots to fill...  (ba dum bum, ching!)