Sands of Time.
I remember walking through the warm sand each step bringing me closer and closer to the horizon. After each one of my steps I only seemed to sink a little further. Back then it didn’t matter, I had done this so many times the sand did not burn anymore. I had become weathered for just a small season of time. Everyday I would walk the endless beach front searching, listening to the sea gulls and listening to the waves crash up against the jetty. I was this single soul searching . . . it was peaceful. I would then stumble upon a beautiful smooth piece of blue sea glass. That was what I was always looking for . . beauty the small things that I suppose every seeker was searching for. I picked it up careful and placed it in my basket. Other things were in there as well, scalloped shells, pretty snail shells that had turned specked and those iridescent shaped ovals. Ovals were a treat I made a small hole and slide a tiny black cord through the shell and wore it. They were small things that brought me joy. In my basket I had along with my findings a journal and shoes. The tide was going out and like anyone that has spent enough time at the beach would know low tide was approaching. That smell that only a beach lover can appreciate. I loved it all . . . it was dusk now. I would put on my shoes and start walking. When I was a child I would call it walking out through the “Iggies” . . . (lots of mush and snails) out into the sea reaching the channel. I was greeted by the most beautiful sandbars. The water was so warm. I sat down on one, five miles or so off from the shore. It was quiet people were clamming, some had their dogs with frisbees, this time was magical. I was sitting in the middle of the sea watching the sunset all these possibilities. I usually would find a piece of driftwood along the way and draw in the sandbar . . . etching something that would vanish in hours. Somehow it always remained with me deep inside decades later. I remember looking back over to shore on the private little beach that was ours and seeing my parents sitting together holding hands, smiling and waving to me. Everyone was so happy . . . so healthy. I yearn for these moments again. What a beautiful life . . . its mine.
-Applejaxe
lollipopsandrazorblades 