Barefoot beneath the pounding Texas sun, pushing a play stroller whilst holding the spirit of a newly metamorphosed butterfly, gently unearthing its painted wings.  The black asphalt scalded my soles, but still, no matter how stubbornly my mother pushed, I refused to imprison what grounded me to the world.  The intricate maze of laces and the tight crampedness left me indifferent to the ways of shoes.  There was not a need for them as I galloped around the neighborhood.  Unbothered by every inconvenience caused by the mysteries of the sidewalk.  The bottoms of my feet were far from smooth, but yet bore the memories of a long-forgotten crack in the road, revealing how even cement is vulnerable.  See, one notices far more about the world while barefooted, and I carried a magnificent secret that turned into many moments of pure joy.  That is, there is no other feeling quite like racing through a field of grass.  Letting out a youthful mixture of screams and laughter as every care gets swept away with the force of the wind, and every ounce of the body wills you forward like a magnet to metal.  It is fascinating that in the moments as insignificant as running through the grass barefoot, were when the world was whole.  When I noticed the most vibrant colors.  When I was truly and fully living. 

As weeks turned into months and months turned into years, I moved away from the home that welcomed me into the world.  The home to which my beloved grass field lived next, and just a preteen attempting to comprehend the complexities that come with being human.  I don’t exactly remember when I stopped greeting the outdoors with my bare feet, but I knew there was change on the horizon.  I recognized that sometimes the beautiful world that I once knew could bruise you.  That when taking flight, the harsh winds can take the breath of an innocent butterfly.  That a grown girl with no shoes gets peculiar looks from neighbors, and a hazy veil of judgment silently looms, begging to be seen.  There stood an internal battle, and I decided to run away. Staying indoors transpired a new pastime, consumed by the pitfall of technology.  The trap that pulls and pulls until one day, you realize how much it has eaten into your life, and when the sunlight disappears, so does the joy. 

I have discovered that while there is such evil in the world, one is never too old to run through the grass field barefoot.  To feel free if just for a moment.  We are far too ungracious on ourselves, wanting to chime to the same tunes and make no mistakes, but we neglect the part that was once loose of that noxious mindset.  Over the summer, I returned to the house that I cherished so profoundly one last time.  A closing goodbye to a time in my life that I held so dear. It was then that I knew.  I knew that I needed to go back to my quiet sanctuary because we are nothing more than a small part of the history of a vast universe.  One in which the opinions of a stranger hold no value.  So run through the grass, set free the anxieties of the world, and discover the vibrant colors once more.  Because one day, when the limbs grow weak, the heart slows to a melancholy drum, and when the memories rush back, it will be as if the newly metamorphosed butterfly never died but instead fluttered within the soul.