Sandcastles

We sat on the beach and played in the white-gold sand, making castles five feet high.  They were beautiful, perfect in their imperfection, built with sweetness and love.  I was afraid the surf would wash them away, would come right up to us and pull down the walls we’d so carefully built.  I motioned to the tide as it pushed itself closer, telling her I was afraid it would ruin the hard work, the hours we’d spent perfecting our castles in the sand.  She reached out for my hand and took it with an indescribable gentleness that made me want to cry.  She looked me in the eyes and I could see myself in the glassy deep pools and past that reflection, her soul so deep and warm.  It enveloped me with a feeling of safety I’d ached for all my life.  These castles, she said, are like the day.  They are made of moments too many to count.  Each grain of sand is a thought, a gesture, a word, an idea, a tear, laughter, pain, discomfort and so much love.  Our days are built of billions of moments and concepts and every day those are washed away by the tide of time until there is no reminder of what was and only possibility for what we can build anew.