I am walking along the water's edge. The sea laps at the soles of my feet, so cold and sharp, drawing the wet sand out from under me when it recedes. I walk up onto the dry shore, feeling the prickly warm sand scratching my toes. I sit down feeling the ground shift and settle around me.
The sea is forever in motion, restless, always changing, always the same. The waves come in, the waves go out, the waves come in again. The setting sun catches the foam on the crests, turning them warm, pink, golden. I can smell the salt in the air. The thin cries of the avocets and the sandpipers rise into the deepening azure sky.
There is a box on the shore, a gift for me. The wrapping on the box is rough, shiny and blue, and changes shade as the light moves across it. Thin woven strands of cornflower and violet and cerulean are glinting one against the next. It is bound by a red velvet ribbon.
I open the box. It is filled with shiny blue and silver paper that catches the dying daylight. I shift the paper, looking for whatever is inside, only to find...
Nothing. The box is empty. Yet... not empty.
What does the box mean? What is the gift?
No comments:
Post a Comment