Leaving Their Shoes Behind

 

There’s a pile of pumps 
at the peaceful passage 
leading to Wildling Wood. 

They’ve kicked 
(off) 
up 
their heels and wielded 
their swords and let all 
that hair 
(golden and otherwise)
down and traded their 
pointy crowns for flowers. 

Now, they spend hours bare
-foot loose and fancy 
-free, having also abandoned 
all tortured and twee 
items from their “princess 
collections.” 

They’ve got an affection 
for talking with trees and 
breathing in breeze and 
allowing the moon to cast 
her spells. 

They’ve got filthy feet 
and big wide grins and 
sometimes they giggle 
at inappropriate things. 

They’ve gone quite feral, really, 
as it stands. Delightfully so. 

And they’re using their 
ungloved, tree-climb-primed 
hands to wave good 
-bye to bling, 
having flung their slippers 
to save their souls. 

::
PAD, day 30.
Whew. Ah, April. You’re a tyrant, but I love you.
And I have loved these wayward wildling princesses.

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