Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
As Patty strolled the cobblestone street, she wondered. Her mother often scolded her for all her wonderings, telling her she needed to be more practical and not constantly dreaming about things she never would see. But Patty couldn’t always stop the wondering, and today she wondered about all the other people whose feet had touched this street.
Think of all the different shoes that had walked the old, sometimes crumbling cobbles. After all, the city was hundreds of years old. There had certainly been horseshoes! Had there been soldiers who marched this old route? Were they wearing boots? Leather sandals? Were they heading to battle, or coming back home? If they were returning, did they have captives whose bare feet may have bled on these very cobblestones?
There had surely been the plain boots of farmers; probably the fancier boots of nobility, made of fine leather and shined to a glossy finish. There had been dainty lady’s slippers, the workshoes of maids and vendors, the worn-down boots of children who ran and played in the street.
What stories were there, locked into the cobblestones? Was there love, romance, perhaps the dressy shoes and boots of wedding parties? Had there been theft? Murder? The rhythmic beat of parading feet? Had some guilty felon been taken to his execution on this street? Had any kings or queens traveled this street to be crowned in the great cathedral?
How many storms, how many sunny days? How much of human history, mystery, sorrow and joy had traveled this way?
In Patty’s head, there was a never-ending kaleidoscope of possibilities. It wasn’t just a plain old cobblestone street. It had seen hundreds of years of history. Each stone had its own story.
Life was never dull when you could wonder.