Whenever I take my evening walk, I pass by this sock on the sidewalk. Just one baby sock. Left. Abandoned. Its mate at home I’m sure is wondering where it is.
I wonder why this sock remains. Enough people walk down this street…maybe someone might want to add it to their sock collection. Maybe they would be its rightful owner and want to take it home. Whatever the case, the sock remains. I’ve even thought about picking it up…but yet I don’t.
I’ve come to expect the sock now. I know that after I cross three streets, there it will be, waiting for me. Who knows who the owner is. Who knows if it was a boy or a girl. This sock is indifferent. To the rain, the scorching heat, the loud traffic noise. It’s simply indifferent.
Maybe, as I sit here personifying woven thread, the sock is not so much indifferent as it is tolerant. It knows that there will be exhaust, that people will discuss all sorts of things as they pass over it, that human and animal alike may give it a passing glance and yet move on.
Strange, I think of this sock as a friend now. I look forward to seeing it when I walk past. And just like friends, I know that someday that the sock will be gone. Who knows where…perhaps to a different life. Perhaps to a new owner? Maybe its rightful owner? Or maybe to visit the other abandoned socks at the Sock Hop at the city dump.
In any case, carry forth, little sock. You’re the bravest sock I know.