I don’t often think of the sand unless I’m at the beach And I dig my feet and toes into the fine warm grains. If I look close enough, each grain is not uniform. There are clear shiny pieces of tiny rocks, Some darker than others, that make up the whole. The tide goes in and out Crashing a million times onto the shore. The sand can mold and make a temporary shape Before the waves bear down And claim it back into the earth Back into the sea. The sand, made of earth, can handle the force And alchemize the pressure Over and over again To make smoother, finer grains of rock That I can scoop and grasp in my hand Before I let it slip through my fingers. My feet leave their imprint On the damp cool sand. Each individual toe down to the heel. I see a bird’s talons imprinted Beside some dog paw prints of varying shapes and sizes Evidence of who also enjoyed this spot of earth. The sun heats and beats onto the sand. It is bleach white from the constant rays. But if I look closely, I see the individually expressed grains That together make up the whole. The sand spreads out to the horizon As it bumps up against the shore Jutting up to sand dunes and tall grasses. Sea shrubbery and florals come into view. I dip my toes into the cool waters And run back to my spot in the sand. I relax while the wet clumps become dry And loose once again. It’s a never-ending dance.