My retirement job allows me to dance with all those things that seem to calm the earth and water around my boots. As if retiring from that job I loved has blessed me with opportunity to have a second chance to live another life.

There are many things that connect my old life with my new life but one that stands out these days are my boots. My life has always had boots of some sort around my feet. I’ve worn them all. These days as I embark on this other life my daily boots consist of hiking boots, knee high rubber boots, and waist high rubber boots. The last few weeks I have been especially blessed to watch the moon become fuller each night. I watch her lift before us and then watch her rest as her counterpart the sun takes over. To some this would be a long night but to me a simple man it’s the solitude that both of my lives need. As the sun takes the moons place, I slip on my waist high rubber boots and navigate the unclear swamp waters. A good portion of my adult years have been navigating the unclear swamp waters. To step off into the waters and trust my feet to guide me to the other side is magical to me. I embrace the unknown and more than once the water has found its way into my boots. It’s hard to say if it was a mistake or just the swamp reminding me I’m not really in control.

A few days ago an owl let me stand with him and he knew I was a stranger but I was no danger to him. The swamp will always have what man views as the enemy. I’ve embraced the cotton mouth snake more than once. We are both just trying to navigate through a swamp to find the calm waters. The other day I was briefly reminded of the pleasures of man in the midst of a swamp. A worn baseball had found its way to the swamp. Gods reminder to me to navigate faster so I could attend our youngest baseball game that afternoon. The moon is saying good night now. She has just passed over the swamp and soon she will be resting. It’s time for me to change my boots and embrace the unclear waters of this second life.

I kept my father’s last pair of boots. They are displayed in our shop with his mason jar he drank from and his hard hat. The mason jar is filled with the quarters that I don’t successfully shoot a hole through. A reminder that no matter how hard we try, sometimes we miss.