A Castle by the Sea
Along the shore she sculpts. Upon the flutter of blue she sifts her thoughts delicately into her red plastic pail. A continuum of music crescendos in waves of anticipation. Mere sand will become her castle by the sea.
In her shovel, the stars do shine. In her eyes, the heavens do sing. Perplexed by nothing, she examines every something that moves inside of her. It is not what we assume to be, it is what we find that sets us free.
Her long grey hair lit by the morning sun moves in ripples across her forehead. In the sanctity of these moments, she examines the foundation of her dreams. In the scheme of things, reverence is not what we worship, but what we find time to imagine and understand.
Barefoot and free, her heart does not dwell in tomorrow, or yesterday; it is present to this very moment. In mere moments we learn that happiness is not owning something, it is sharing what you have.
The bright sails on ships and the flight of white gulls are enough to keep her company as she measures and stirs the wet sand. In her hands are the realizations of what hold us together, grains, one upon another. Restless as the drifting, fluffed clouds, she tumbles and rolls her creation together.
A bike bell rings and a red kite ascends from beyond the rugged cliff. All is well on the peaceful shore and her bright thoughts sculpting what she implores. Her white dress spins like a prima ballerina as she rises to meet the colors of the sun. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, images of love that can be experienced, remembered, and spun.
Threads of light move in the wet sand. She follows the shadows of the sky to find the place where her dream castle can rise and the child in her can make believe what every heart yearns to be, complete. It is in our longing that we learn to belong.
Like a master, she falls into golden thoughts, and builds what can never be bought, her castle by the sea. In the quiet of our minds is a place where the child in us can find dreams, and a light that never turns away.
She meets her prince, she dances for hours, and awakens to find her castle washed ashore. She picks up her red pail, towel, and shovel and smiles. Dreams must wash ashore or we have no reason to dream of evermore.
It is not what we know, but what we believe, that makes the happiest endings … beginnings.
Heaven’s shores are lined with red sand pails, shovels, fallen stars, and castles by the sea.
Kathy Paysen 2012