i've known my toes for as long as i can remember.
that left pinky toe hasn't moved by choice in a decade.
and that dislocated right middle toe hasn't bent correctly ever since it performed that head-on stop of my son's, who was no more than five at the time, five foot scorcher for an unassisted soccer game winner on my parents front lawn.
then there are those long, lanky toes leaning up against my big toes, dwarfing them all in length, leaving only girth as a source of pride for the big boys.
they are the furthest ten points from my brain, and sometimes i look at them and that is exactly the way they behave.
they don't listen.
they march to their own drummer.
yet they are the closest contact i have to dirt (i.e., mother earth).
in a way they are my earthly ambassadors.
and given the price of oil these days, i think they are making some backroom deals.