I can feel the sand
I can still feel the sand. Warm sand under my feet, oozing over my toes, making little squeaky noises as I shuffle along the path, tall reeds beside. I can feel the sandspur sting suddenly, so sharp for so little a thing! I wish I had remembered my flip flops.
I can feel the sand, wet and flat, and yet oddly contoured by the waves, not quite fitting right onto the bottom of my soles. I can feel the sand, heavy in my hand as I dig deep to bring up another pile to drip onto the tower. It's tall now, but we're going to make it taller. It won't survive high tide but we build it anyway.
I can feel the gully sand, bubbles forming under the water by some creature underneath. It's warm and feels good to sit in, to soak our feet. I can feel the dry sand as we run along it, trying to get to base on the far side of the maze before we get tagged. I can feel the sand.
I can feel the sand blow into my face, stinging a little as I squint my eyes. I can feel it crunching between my teeth when I eat my turkey sandwich. I can feel it chafing my thighs when I walk back to the house, rubbing red and raw. I can feel it wash off of me in dark brown strings under the hose.
I can feel it soft and thick on the basement floor as Charlie shoots a firecracker at army men set against the wall. This is what a kid calls fun. I can feel the sand, wet and satisfying as I jump on the pile Jeff and Susan built, only to have it collapse into soft gelatinous ooze as I discover they had buried a jellyfish.
I can feel the sand give way gently under my cane as I shuffle along once again to do what I can. I will not feel it upon my feet, but a castle or two will do nicely for now.
I can feel the sand. I can feel it still. And I know, One Day, I will feel it again.