Water

   I recently read a story in The New York Times about the efforts of a helicopter pilot in Texas to drive some of the cattle in the state away from areas flooded by Hurricane Harvey. The picture below, showing an animal that was not saved, was one that accompanied the article.
   Not too long ago, I wrote about a picture of another flood scene (in that case, of a cemetery in Oroville, California). So, it would seem that the thought of being overcome by water has some importance for me. And while I'm not aware of being overly fearful of drowning, it's hard to imagine that these images of things submerged have affected me so powerfully without terror being somewhere in the midst of it.
   Although I generally feel saddened by seeing animals of all kinds suffer, it's a bit of a surprise to me that I should feel it so strongly for the huge animal in the picture, as it's size and presumed power are quite frightening to me. I liken it in some ways to the bullies that I feared growing up, but understand now better that all people, however they behave, have the potential to be suffering like me.
   Perhaps I also see in this photograph some of my father, who I idealized as a child to be in possession of great power, even though he readily displayed to me his doubts and insecurities. Maybe the water washing over this animal has captured metaphorically the overwhelming anxiety and fear which seemed to so cripple him later in his life, or the sense I must have had as a young boy that my own feelings were a flood which would destroy me if not contained.
   Although water can feel so wonderful, providing a means for relaxation and cleansing (and for some, purification), it can also overwhelm and suffocate.
   As is sometimes the case in my own life, the very thing that can apparently mend my pain can also cause it.

To stand out and fall apart

   I had seen this shoe on the ground next to Stow Lake Drive for close to a month, watching it slowly deteriorate over the weeks I would pass it during my morning walks. Although I wouldn't always choose to walk in the area where it had come to rest, when I did, I'd look over my shoulder to the right at the appropriate time in hopes of seeing it again. Unfortunately for me, it is now no longer there.

   Below are two pictures that I took of it. The top one was taken perhaps four or five days after I had first spotted it, the second about a week later. 

   Apparently missing its' mate, the shoe seems to have been tossed off by someone. I imagine that it may have been thrown from a car (it laid next to a path used by both pedestrians and automobiles) or more likely, discarded by one of the homeless people that sometimes camp on the hill below. 

   It was and continued to be there amongst the leaves, and although it didn't stand out radically amongst all those browns, reds and greens, the off-white color did distinguish it from its' environs.

And even in those first days, I never was able to see it as anything resembling an entire shoe, though what was there was certainly enough to illustrate what it had once been, or was most likely, meant to be. I have enjoyed watching the remains become a bit assimilated over time, lost into the leaves and sticks during my rather brief relationship with it.

   Although I probably first noticed it because it stood out in color from the surroundings, what really interested me in it was how it seemed to illustrate how it was put together. Its' very constructiveness   fascinated me, and while I do know something about the way shoes in general are made, I am not as familiar with how they fall apart. I am glad that my knowledge is limited in this area, and wonder how many things can show themselves so well without being anything like completely visible.