From Heather with Love

*aka The reigning Art Czar at BAD! Kitty Art Studio*

This is a story that was sent to me from an old friend a year or so ago, I am sorry I don’t know who wrote it, but I love it, and found it this morning, and wanted to share it with you all:

Making Sandcastles

Hot sun. Salty air.

Rhythmic waves.

A little boy is on his knees scooping and packing the sandwith plastic shovels into a bright blue bucket.

Then he up ends the bucket on the surface and lifts it. And, to the delight of the little architect, a castle tower is created.

All afternoon he will work.

Spooning out the moat.

Packing the walls.

Bottle tops will be sentries.

Popsicle sticks will be bridges.

And a castle will be built.

Big city. Busy streets.

Rumbling traffic. A man is in his office.

At his desk he shuffles papers into stacks and delegates assignments.

He cradles the phone on his shoulder and punches the keyboard with his fingers.

Numbers are juggled and contracts are signed and much to the delight of the man, a profit is made.

All his life he will work.

Formulating the plans.

Forecasting the future.

Annuities will be sentries.

Capital gains will be bridges.

An empire will be built.

Two builders of two castles.

They have much in common.

They shape granules into grandeur. They see nothing and make something.

They are diligent and determined.

And for both the tide will rise and the end will come.

Yet that is where the similarities cease.

For the boy sees the end while the man ignores it.

Watch the boy as the dusk approaches.

As the waves near, the wise child jumps to his feet and begins to clap. There is no sorrow. No fear. No regret.

He knew this would happen. He is not surprised.

And when the great breaker crashes into his castle and his masterpiece is sucked into the sea, he smiles.

He smiles, picks up his tools, takes his parent’s hand, and goes home.

The grown up, however, is not so wise.

As the wave of years collapses on his castle he is terrified.

He hovers over the sandy monument to protect it.

He blocks the waves from the walls he has made.

Salt-water soaked and shivering he snarls at the in coming tide.

“It’s my castle,” he defies.

The ocean need not respond.

Both know to whom the sand belongs…

***

I know who my sand belongs to.

How are you today? Where/how are your castles being built?

Mine’s here in Little Beaverton Oregon.

Where will you build your castle, will you still stand when the walls crumble?

No matter where I go, or where I may live, I am always going home.

I am my castle…I belong to both ocean and earth…I am the essence of the flow…

and I feel serene today. I know where I belong…in my flow, my castle welcomes the tide.

Yours in truth today,

Heather

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