Wiping the Dust

I crawled out from the terracotta pot and noticed how much pale clay dust had settled into the creases of my black boots. Leaving my guitar tucked safely in the shelter, I walked along the fence until I reached a wide, flat garden paver where clear rainwater had gathered in a shallow hollow. I plucked a broad, smooth green leaf from the weed fringe and dipped it into the still water. Carefully pressing the wet leaf against my boots, I wiped away the dry grit stroke by stroke until the dark surface showed clean again. I sat back on the sunlit stone with my legs straight out, enjoying the silent warmth as the leather dried.