Day 3

Write about your feet.

Each press into the earth, a shock of pain. Every moment, a dull ache. Every tendon on fire, each joint worn sore. Like two spades, they trudge through the earth. Sometimes, they move lightly and quickly, excited to meet the ground beneath them as they step towards a goal and a purpose. Other times, they fear each adventure towards the floor, not knowing what the next moment may bring: simple sensation, or blistering pain. It is the pain that they fear, from the heel to the sole, and especially the dreaded leg-fire. It is the leg-fire which has made them timid, the leg-fire which makes them not so reckless as they ought to be.
They are the arbiters of the future, but they have no choice in the matter. They tell me where I will go, but never when I will stop. They know no end to their travel, but when at last the glowing orb sets beneath the horizon, and they can lose their heavy load, they sigh with relief. Luckily, they themselves rarely see danger. They know how much I depend on them.
With them, my body and mind have been places I could have never dreamed. With them I have lost ground and won it. With them, I have traveled tall hills, and down into tunnels, through miles and miles of concrete streets and, once, to a place between summer and winter.
With them, I have gone paths which many have trod, but none should ever have need to go down.
They will serve me until the bitter end, but they have become calloused and weary. They need time to heal, time to get back the vigor of their youth. They whisper to me, telling me to carry on, telling me I can go just a little further.
I hope do not let them down.