Smooth Like Sand

Image Each second lingered like it had nowhere to go.

We levitated in the early autumn light under pines.

Nothing happening here.

Fingers in sand, raking, scooping, pouring.

Simple.

Two boys, side by side, One mission, to do nothing.

I recalled the little boxes you can get for your tabletop that come with a miniature rake. The point is to be still, practice serenity.

“It’s really peaceful doing this, isn’t it?” I said out loud.

The older boy, the one who has tended toward struggle, anger, frustration…the one who fights me…who has seen me angry, untame, in his face, at my worst…he smiles his quiet, closed-mouth smile at me as he glances up and then back to his “work.”

“Yeah,” he says.

And after a long pause, “When you smooth something out, you feel smoothed out.”

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Image 4 I need to be smoothed out.

So I rake my fingers through sounds and syllables. Feel phonemes slide into a lyric or sentence or message.

Slowly my wind-torn and uneven soul becomes a shore on the moonlit beach.

You think I am here doing this for you, but I can’t take that kind of credit, because I’m not so generous. I only do what I have to.

As my friend Nick Flora sings,

I’ve got a longing in every part That will not let me be

And though it seems that everything is just fine Underneath what you can’t see I’m dying just to make it out alive

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Yesterday I was the sand.

You ran your palms over my back Smoothed, soothed Because I couldn’t reach What needed tending. Thank you for that.

We are a see saw, Rising and falling in unhurried rhythm. When your eyes lift, face the sun, You beam, And I take from you some of the Light and Joy I have none of at my weightier end. And you give it, knowingly, happily. Thank you for that.

Tomorrow it will be my turn. You’ll be the sand And I’ll reach For you.

Together we’ll smooth the wind-blown world Into dunes and rows ‘Til time And spirits Still.

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