A barefoot rebellion

As I step across the threshold between private and public,
the bare skin of my feet registers the harsh prickles of the welcome mat.


I step from the scratchy mat to the cool and soft stone floor of the hallway,
I pull my front door and let it softly click closed.

A flight of stairs down,
a few steps more and I’m outside,
carefully treading on the uneven stones of the entrance way.

And then the sidewalk.

I take light footsteps,
hopping over unwelcome items on the ground.
Pavement is surprisingly softer than a welcome mat,
giving my unprotected feet a welcomed gentle and sun-warmed massage.

The bag goes in the trash, I turn around,
and my feet experience the textures in reverse
until they again rest safely on the cool,
clean stone floor of my Jerusalem apartment.

These are a few of my favourite things.


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