the magic of sand

a grackle with eyes the color of pale topaz
strolls across the tiles of the bungalow
and I let him make his own conclusions
about when to take his leave

every morning, he comes to the stone basin
where I rinse the sand from my feet
to drink his fill while I have my coffee
and fight the wind to hold the pages of my book

and now he seems to make an inspection
of the small trail of white sand
I’ve somehow managed to track inside,
merely curious without being accusatory

as if he too knows the magic of sand
and how it follows behind bare feet,
leaving glyphic clues to where we’ve been
regardless of how often we rinse or sweep

© Sarah Whiteley

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I wish I had managed to get a better picture of this guy – he was a constant presence during my trip to Mexico last year. I didn’t make it this year. I ended up canceling at the last minute (for very good, but still painful reasons) and I’ve been feeling the twinge today of missing that very special place. But I know I’ll go back and hopefully one day soon.