Sand Castles in Mahabilipurim, (c)2013 John Meisel, India
The sun opens his bright eye
To look lovingly upon the morning
As restful waves retreat to their seabed
And we paddle our fanciful painted boats with their
Shimmering nets of light to shore.
Stretching stiffened limbs, we walk the sand’s unblemished face awhile
Still accustoming to a sunny morning
Now it is time for play.
Piles of grains, gold and grey take form in curious hands which work ever so deliberately
And with understated care (a beach is but particles of sand)
We build hopes as confessional words and eagerly await answers to
Sand-posed wonderings.
They come. They always do.
(who can hear the Earth’s whispered secrets in their inner ear?)
As the sun brews, closing his eye in anticipation of a sound night’s rest,
So do we, child scientists and architects, so do we call it a day (for we are on those terms)
Walking along the beach, we turn and can only smile as
Our dreams wash away (nothing is forgotten)
Approaching the sea happy, cheeks glowing with the air
Our brothers and sisters reach our for our hands sending sparkles of water into the warm air
We clasp hands briefly (a drop dances for but a moment before it disappears into the sea)
Laughing, and then…
Waves wash rhythmically up an unbroken shore.
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