My shoe wears a blister on one of my winter feet and Sam notices the slight limp. I tuck a leaf into my heel, a trick that sometimes work. He laughs and thinks (I think): you. But the autumn leaf I found is too brittle. I look up and see its spring sisters emerging. I think (I know): it's too soon to go sock-less. Remember, next year, wait until the leaves are out.
Sam takes a shoe off on the sidewalk, removes one sock and I slide it on. Happy one-year anniversary.