A Sandy Rendezvous

When I get a speck of dirt in my eye, as I am digging it out, poking, prodding, prying my lids open, flushing the orb under the faucet, I think: Could I be seeing the world more closely than this?

Something seemingly insignificant now very significant.

A granule of sand maybe a 1/16th of a millimeter in diameter has affected me. I have spent special time with a particle of sand. We have connected. We have shared an experience. A strong wind carried this little grain around creation, picked it up from the bottom, and brought it up, danced. I wasn't looking for a dance when we met, but like a relentless woman takes a man by the hand, I was taken and thrown into a dance with the wind and sand swirlers. Unexpected, but unusually fascinating. The dusty devil's twist. With my arms held over my head, eyes squinted, and mouth sealed tight (the sour lemon face), I stood in the middle of a brownish cowboy vortex. Somewhere in the there, among thousands of others just like it, violently dancing, this granule of sand slid under my eyelid and made it in. Connected.

With my head tilted under the public restroom's faucet, water rushing down the side of my cheek, I spent time with this particle and, although I wanted it out, I couldn't help but see the beauty in how we met. I mean I really did have to see it. There was no way around it. It made its way to my eyeball! Something with such a lack of complexity, aesthetic value, and purpose, without a will, made itself known to me. When I got it out, I stared at the little bastard sitting on my finger tip and smiled.