I cover my feet for the good of humanity. No one wants to see the club foot, the extra toe grafted on by the late Professor Shrank who died mid splice, his secrets dying with him. I learned long ago to hide my gifts like a magpie hides its hoard of shiny. Far from prying eyes. Grandpa cut down a rotting old apple tree in the yard once. It shattered when it fell spilling ants and coruscating larva. Amidst all, a mother load of shiny. Keys and rings. Bottle caps mirror glass, coins and beads. "Damn that must have been one hell of a magpie" Grandpa exclaimed as he sorted through it all pulling gold from dross as unseen, a black bird circled overhead in consternation, in mourning. So I hide my feet, wouldn't you? I keep my treasures to myself because I know grandpa still has his axe.
@notforprint & @wetransfer