The Squeak.
Strolling along, pleased with my new shoes.
Then, the squeak.
A squeaky shoe is amusing. It mirrors your stride, as if followed by a clown. But the only clown was I.
The squeak passed back and forth between my shoes with each step. A double act. A squeaky duet to increase the whimsy of my stride. To increase my ignominy.
Little would rid myself of this squeak, so I learned a little humility. To not take my self too seriously. I walked in these squeaky shoes and accepted the butt of the joke.
After many weeks of squeaky steps, I passed a gentleman in shining new shoes. My squeak ceased. Gone as quickly as it arrived.
This gentleman stopped suddenly and tested his stride. His shoes had sprung a squeak.
Perhaps there is only one squeak in the world, jumping from shoe to shoe, to teach us each a lesson.
The Circus Train
A great train rumbled through the night. Its bright interior illuminated the dark forest that lined the track, casting deep shadows that danced among the trees. Beneath the staccato clack of wheels and the deep rumble of the engine, bright melodies could be heard as the train passed by. The music of a content, complete and isolated little world.