we wandered the short beach,
eyes downcast,
voices silent.
our eyes searched for the sea glass
that hid in the rocks.
our feet pushed the water worn rocks aside
as we hunted.
i stooped to grasp a piece
of jagged glass
and held it out to him.
he came near, his hand stretched to mine
and i placed it in his palm.
bright sunlight caught the rough edges.
he held it aloft to let the light
pass through it
as he turned it,
looking, examining.
his hand dropped and
he tossed it back into the waves
with a flick of his hand.
his words to me were
simple
as he spoke softly.
“it isn’t ready yet'”,
my son explained.
the waves hadn’t worn it down enough.
it was still just glass
that had been broken,
it hadn’t been exposed,
enough,
it hadn’t been weathered,
enough,
it hadn’t been worn,
enough,
to be beautiful.
yet.
whisky sweet 