Around this time of year, Kenya gets a tad muddy.
When I say “tad muddy” I mean so muddy that the muck could suck you down and spit you out in the Cape of Good Hope.
This means that wearing sneakers does nothing.
I swear I heard the mud laugh at my New Balance.
You need something with a bit more grip.
Enter the blessing that is Wellington boots.
A group that had come before us had left several pairs in the bungalow we stayed in and so I wore Wellington boots all the live long day. They were a size too big and kind of smelled like turpentine, but oh how I loved those Wellington boots. I even wore them to church. With a dress. And a lovely scarf I stole from Tesia.
Um, I mean…oh heck nevermind.
And so to honor the blessing from the Lord that is Wellington boots, I have written a poem in their honor.
“Ode to my Wellington boots”O Wellington boots, thou blessed child of halogenated polymer Impervious to muck and mildew, thou art my Wellington boots. Shall I take you through the hills of brown and black? Shall I roll with you through paint and turpentine? Though my life be strewn with cow pats you are forever faithful, Sweet Wellington boots. How can one truly understand thy perfections? Converse cannot hold a candle to your reflection. You laugh in the face of chilly mop water and wasps! Thou ridest a chariot of insulated soles, lover of my soul, Thou art my Wellington boots! O Wellington boots Thou keep the mop waters away from my socks. My toes are forever in wonder of your charms. Stay sweet Wellington boots beneath my stride, Cradling my fallen arches in a crib of waterproof splendiforousness. I may have totally made up that last word, Wellington boots, But thou art too wonderful for grammar. Wellington boots, O Wellington boots How silly I am in your presence. I speak with the rapture of one who has witnessed thy greatness. Even my New Balance is in awe of your wonders. Sweet Wellington boots.
I may or may not have written this while wearing a pair of Wellington boots.
Please don’t judge me.