Some bare their heart on their sleeve, while others at the sole of their feet. Those that are unafraid to feel, who face their path without grimace or frown, those who have more courage than I step through puddles left behind by summer rains and continue stepping through broken branches and the thick, cold-in-between the toes, sinking soil underneath. They walk to explore and wander the aimless expanse that hardens their bond with the dirt, caring not for grit or grime that dirties the skin. They listen to what the earth whispers gently under them, like sharing secrets between well acquainted friends. They’ll halt with keen sensibility and wander towards a patch of wild grass, stoop below their knees, and tear ripe spring onions up from the soil that anchors it. Their jovial laughter echoes so loudly that not even my envy can cut through its encompassing kindness that rings beyond the dense, disorganized, stretches of tree bark and vegetation. The vulnerability of being barefoot, is something in itself unique. Unlike being emotionally vulnerable with someone that cares for you, being physically vulnerable to unfamiliar places means unconditional trust, a total submission to the earth.

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