This is my home game entry for Week 37 of LJ Idol.
In a dark lake ringed with ridged mountains, sand swirls. Turbulence. Earthquake, whirlpool, and rock slide. Black detritus flies into the murk. Mountains become valleys, and a deluge digs a deep gully.
"I make a river," my son says. He is 2 and does not understand the mechanics of sand. But pouring water from his bucket does dig a deep channel emptying into the hole in the sand we've dug.
Gently, I explain to him that sand is made of particles. Raising a handful up, I let it spill through my fingers. "The water will flow between the particles and sink into the sand," I tell him.
Is it my job, I wonder, to prepare him for disappointment? Or just to be there for him when things inevitably sink through the particles of his life? Loss, heartbreak, failure?
Thinking about my statement, my son says, "It's OK, Mommy. I get more water." Before I can respond, he is dashing to the water with his bucket.
My laughter. The birds tweeting. A train roiling in trees across the lake. Motorboats. Sand.
We create this day. We stomp the sand together.