The world
is not created
by artisan gods of myth
who chisel,
hammer,
or breathe life into small things.
Glorious
pinwheels of light
are not heaved upon high
by a grunting God
of fret and toil.
Instead creation is stomped
blithely
into being
by the scampering footfalls
of delighted spirits
holding sandy hands
down a midnight beach they race,
dazzling stars shooting
up from between bare toes.
Creation is fleeting,
for each glittering step
lets loose but a dusting
of brilliant galaxies, extinguished
in an instant.
Our skies are sparked
by peals of laughter below,
a woman spinning,
dancing,
throwing off
scintillations,
of bright suns, moons and stars,
firing our brief infinity.
The receding waves
twinkle
and ebb, gracefully,
smoothing over our
once magical footprints
under a numinous,
unknowable
heaven.
~
I remember being on a South Carolina beach some years ago, wishing I could have seen this as a child. You can try to find your inner child, but it’s not the same.
I can’t agree with you more. My wife and I were out walking on the beach as it sparkled with each step, and I almost went back to the shore house to wake everyone else, including my 3 year-old nephew… he was sleeping peacefully, I just couldn’t do it. Hope he sees the same magic dinoflagellates one day.
…Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow….
– bob dylan, mr tambourine man