The boots were my pals especially on cold
nights around a warm campfire where
stories were exchanged about the aloof
game that got away or how other hunting
parties were more successful than ours,
I grabbed the boots one by one and laid
them on my lap as I pushed my wheel
chair out of the closet and to the living room
where I placed them on the coffee table as
a reminder of the time I was free to walk
and ambulatory as a hunter before my
tragic accident on the mountain top chasing
my frightened prey.