I’m engulfed in a sea of feet.
Thunderously, remorselessly, they're unstoppable and as continuous as the waves of an ocean.
From where I'm sitting, on a low stool at Gare St. Lazare in Paris, I'm transfixed by the hundreds of feet passing me.
Looking down, I can see sneakers of all sizes - white, blue, scarlet, pea green, olive drab, jet black. It seems running shoes have become the shoe statement of the day.
Only occasionally do I hear the tap tap of dressy high heels
as a dressed-up young lady walks past me.
Or I'll spot a pair of cherry red sandals accompanying a long silky summer dress swishing by. She's as slinky as Garbo, a real “femme fatale”, unlike the work crowd around her dressed in leggings or tight-fitting pants.
While I wait for my husband to return from his walk-around, I'm mesmerized by the movement and dizzying speed of the crowd around me. I can’t move, guardian of our bags, and I'm lucky to have found this seat.
A fresh sweep of feet flow from the station, a wave rushing towards me, as they connect between metro stations. A relentless, steady surge of running shoes move rapidly.
There are no accidents, all the bodies are angled in the same direction, in lock step with each other.
I sit, I stand, I try and peer over heads, between headless bodies.
How long has he been away. Ten, twelve, fifteen minutes?
Has he been mugged, dragged away, abducted?
Now I'm being absurd.
Suddenly he appears, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
I'm glad I invested in a good, comfortable pair of Nikes which fit my little feet perfectly.
They’ll take me around Normandy, to visit the beaches where the Allies fought and were wounded, their muddy boots strewn over the battlefields.
The war museum at Dunkerque has imprinted powerful and painful images on my mind. Stark, riveting images.
Men in uniform wearing heavy boots, tramping through gooey mud and slime, being shot, falling to the ground, their rifles slipping from their hands and landing at their feet.
At Malo Les Bains, the long, meandering beach where armies once fought, presents a very different picture today.
A wavering sun peeks out of a grey sky, lighting up the pools of water that have seeped out of the sea. A few souls, heads bent, search for crabs or jelly fish. They’re too far away for me to see what they’ve found.
I take my shoes off and squelch sand and water between my toes. I try not to think about soldiers, war and muddy boots.
Running barefoot on the beach, feeling like a child again, I'm carefree, footloose and fancy free.
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