Sand

So many things I did with sand - let it run softly through my fingers, spanked it firm, shaped it, more than water enough close by to seal. It rode the horse of my flattened palm. It leveled as it pranced its way up. Reared at obstacles I erected. Got round them anyway to topmost fortifications. Went in. I stood full height and spread my arms without touching walls, kicked my feet without touching chairs. I heard the sea through the tower windows. So many things the sea did in time to my castle - sent its tide to nip at the safety of the little cove, threw up a gale in my face, smashed the walls.

Just below the roily surfaces where the gale takes sudden leave where the twisting crests subside and begin their deep descent and are what they are to rock bottom in a dimension like that the tower windows hold their gossamer rapture and calm, sand running softly from my hands.

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