The Sand

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.


I walk gently

The white snowflakes
Gently fall to the earth.
They are big, fat and wet
Sticking to the ground.

They stick to each other.
They cover and blanket the earth.
I am unable to decipher 
their individual shape
among the many crowded underfoot.

I walk gently.
The freshly fallen snow
Pristine, untouched by another.
I do not want to disturb
the perfect symmetry
of smooth white
hugging the earth
Masking and taking shape
of whatever object they land on.

I decide my path of travel
to make an imprint
A mark of life that is there
Inhabiting this space
Disturbing the untouched earth.
I must walk on.