The year winds down. Only a few weeks, a handful of days, left. I’m specifically not counting , but this year’s Tracks class is keeping count in a way that others haven’t. “Is this the last day I play the rhythm,” one asks. I force myself to think. Ada answers, though. She seems better equipped to think of the bittersweet in the beginning/endings, thankfully.
Cliff of Doom (The Gifts of Awe and Wonder)
Sugar Sand
Hands too small to even begin to hold a pencil or pen, delicately pinch tiny bits of sand, measured in grains. Fingers of one hand seek out bits of tiny colored gravel and pebbles, picking these up just so, to collect as treasures in the palm of the other. Sitting at a table and holding pencil will never match time spent “cooking” sand.
