Cloudy Colors

My tiny fingers are so excited

To have the citron-colored glass

They reach out and grab a whole

Handful of sand with it

 

I think it looks perfect

I brush away the grit and

Hold the piece between two fingers

And run back to him

 

I’m always impatient, rushing

Down the strand, hoping the

Best pieces will jump out to me

But that’s not how to do it

 

He takes his time, walking slowly,
Step by step, listening to the waves

Crash on the shore as the tide goes

Out just an hour or so after dawn

 

I hand over my discovery

He examines it carefully

Reading the etchings that

The sea has left upon it

 

With a smile and a nod

The glass joins the family in

His pocket and our collection

Of colors grows even more

 

I go back to hunting

If it’s too sharp, or too clear,

Or even too shiny, then it’s

Not ready to come home with us