Stiff new leather hiking boots ‘with room to grow’
and room for two pairs of woolen socks
folded under toes.
Brown and white laces zig-zagged through boot
hooks wound around cushioned supports
before being tied, tight,
in double bows.
He, and his friend, Uncle Alex, told stories
on their return of racing up hill and down dale,
wee legs pumped nineteen to the dozen
over hills they called Munros.
She, on the other hand, saw stretched out moors
with sheep collecting by burns to drink in, and die in.
Her compass point was dead ahead on the back of her dad.
Fall in line or stick in mud,
gripped by her soles.
Her foot in the boot, sucked hard on lung wracked bog.
Laces with no give held feet fast.
Her balance gave, slow. . .ly