The sand in which I stand knows time enough to hold it within millions of eroded rock souls. These pieces of what were once great hold both the past and the present in a gentle caress of movement, be it from the sea wind or the receding tide. Footprints disappear then are recreated by new travelers who walk the same renewed path as those never-forgotten by the sand. The overlap of expression and generations are recorded in the shore.
I see my name there, written many waves ago, when I knew who I was.
Now only the sand remembers.