Ruby Red Slippers

Tapping the heels three times does not send me home, but, still, I adore red shoes, their bold simplicity and their effusion of cultural connotations, positive and negative. As a friend from South Africa used to chuckle and tease, a former client and colleague, red shoes can be the mobile signal for a good time, at least for her back home; here, old Hollywood sweetheart Judy Garland will always be my first association. Amid a week of tension, the desire to click, once, twice, three times, and to be magically whisked away, transported home, not necessarily my childhood home, but some idea of it, more nostalgic and more fanciful, is so very strong. Someplace safe, warm, comforting.

Last night, thick black storm clouds stampeded across the sky, a herd of horses surpassing the blank gray field; it was beautiful and frightening. I left my window open to watch the violence in the sky, the black clouds illuminating in a bright clash of white light at irregular intervals, followed by low growls. When I was a little girl, during the spring storms, I would sit in front of a large picture window in our family room, and silently watch the fury.