My fingers push, the leather resists the sharpness of the needle point, but then the leather yields though I press no harder.
The loose thread trails after the eye as it passes through and I catch the eye glistening for just a moment. The tight skin draws up sharply as the thread yanks and yanks again. The gap closes and so again I pierce the leather and again and again the leather resists then yields. The stitches stand against the tan in neat rows of white symmetry. The hands rest and shoe rests, the thread and the needle both rest united.