Was Dorset. Now West Yorkshire.
Waiting for the owner to return?
A Poem by HMC...My trainers are clean, new and whiteThey won’t hurt you, they don’t bite.My trainers are for running and for fun,They are for dancing out in the sun.My trainers are strong, my trainers are bright,My trainers can be tied loose or tight.My trainers are great, they are really cool,They are absolutely ace for playing the fool.My trainers can jump and they can stampBut still you won’t get any cramp.My trainers squeak because they’ve got lots of grip,No water will get in, not even a drip.My trainers are comfy, warm and dry,But now it is time to say ‘Goodbye’My trainers are dirty, small and old,They are no longer very bold.Can I have some sandals?In these trainers my feet are as hot as candles...
Someone was running so fast they ran right out of their shoe. Probably wondered where they lost it when they got home. Great color in your photo.
Hello Andy. It's astonishing how many shoes one sees lying around the place.Thanks for the poem, Willie.Taken for Granted - that's kind of you to say about the colour. Heavy shadows at this time of year make for awkward contrasts and I was bothered by the distant grass glaring. (But it's also enlivening to see sunshine beyond the shade.)
I hate to inject a touch of realism after all those wonderful comments but, in the city at least, I've heard a theory that a dangling trainer (especially over a "telegraph" wire) signifies a place for drug dealers to meet!Loved the pic and the poem!:)
Oh. Pat. There's a possibility! Stile on side-path in an odd corner by public playing field . .
I'll take the POV of Willie's great poem! Love the picture.
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