A Sudden Stillness - July 26 2025

 

A Sudden Stillness

July 26 2025

I draw a line in the sand.

Step back, and draw another.

Walk on it barefoot,

and the silky heat

of sun-warmed sand between my toes

is pure delight.

But then, those broken shells

like landmines, 

pesky sandflies,

the tide coming in.

I’ve never been buried to the neck

  — a disembodied head

sand, caked in its hair,

swivelling stiffly

as it anxiously looks out —

but have known helplessness,

felt immobilized

by fear.

But what I fear most

are the sands of time

counting down.

I picture an hourglass emptying out,

tiny granules

of light brown sand

pouring steadily down,

like some free-flowing liquid

tinged with gold.

How it funnels through the crimped waist

of its clear glass vessel

faster and faster

the less there is,

as if impatient 

to empty out.

And as the column spirals down,

how the centre

forms a small depression

until the bottom falls out;

a sudden stillness

that leaves me feeling there should be something next.

Can the end of time

really be so banal?

If only I could flip the glass

bottom-to-top

and start again,

counting the hours from scratch. 

Not reincarnation, exactly,

but at least a second chance.

Like digging free,

a step in retreat,

commanding the tide to recede.

But even Canute 

with all the hubris of a king

could not restrain the tide,

rising up

to scour the beach

and wash the sand clean.