Clac cloc, clac cloc, clac cloc, clac cloc, clac cloc, a rompus echo consumes the day.
She's now on her ninth pair of shoes... strewn and mishappened throughout the house.
Indiscriminate to the strength of their sound or shape, but partial to color and those that sparkle.
I'm uncertain about what the appeal is for her. It is certainly nothing that I nutured with my
own obsession for shoes smothered into thirty-five shoe boxes in the basement. Shoes that
are now four or five years dated. A fashion cemetery for me but for Avelina a wonderous
bounty for parading and clac clocing on our wood floors...
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