Our Song of Summer

Our Song of Summer

It was cold in Michigan,

But you were hot,

And, you said, “The sand is perfect”,

My, God,

We lay our heads on the beach blanket,

Hands extended to grab and hold heaven,

Gold extracted,

Eyes closed,

As if blind for a few moments,

To feel,

Really feel,

Handfuls of extravagance,

The drizzle between our fingers,

I haven’t felt this free since I was a boy,

Ten years old,

So bold,

(And, yet I had my Dad and Mom to back me up),

We both remember the sand then, as now,

Our feet feeling sand for the first time,

Fluid and giving beneath weight,

Heels sunk well below toes,

Yet, arching forward the pads of the foot would grab,

Now, toes would help you rise,

Never solid really,

Always moving,

Kind of like life,

I love things that don’t change,

Call me a freak,

But,

This sand in my fingers,

This sand beneath my toes,

This sand is one of my “rocks”!

Peter Lowell Paulson

July 29, 2014