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.
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