Just to wriggle my toes and think of all the shoes I wore! The baby booties to patent-leather Mary Janes, the oxfords and the tennis shoes; the furry slippers and yellow rubber boots, the flip-flops and towering heels.
And how I looked down at my hands in muff and mittens, cotton whites and soft calve gloves. Pictured my charm bracelets, bangles and rings - worn no more than three to a hand and that for only a decade. With eyes closed, I can almost feel the lengthy wool and silken scarves once wound around my neck and smell the scented bubble bath, the talc and lotions, lipstick and cologne.
And, oh, the jaunty hats that sat upon my head! From crochet baby bonnets to a dozen Easter straws. The darling velvet cloche and flapper hats that hid unfurling curls; pillbox and beret for my page boy, then longish hair; the wide-brimmed boater casting latticed shade upon my face.
I see the parade of Sunday dresses with their prickly crinolines; the sporty skirts with knife-sharp pleats; blouses, turtlenecks and preppy cardigans; the daring straight legged pants, the short, then shorter shorts; the lace-edged socks and leotards. And over all, the navy pea, the A-line, sweater and faux fur coats, the fleece-lined trench and poncho.
I smile at the shimmer of each cocktail dress and full length gown, the magical appeal of a satin cape and evening clutch. Or frown before a mirror in my very last bikini. Then, slip on my flannel PJs or filmy baby dolls - those before I learned to sleep in sheets, reclining in my bed, thankful for so many threads to count ... instead of sheep.
by Reggie Morrisey
This Bird's Nest