"I’d sit cross-legged in the box, filtering the sand over and over again through an old spaghetti strainer, getting rid of the sticks and leaves that had fallen, until it was almost as fine as right after he poured the sand from the bag. That was perfect sand."
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Morning's are so much better. Whatever anxieties I had the night before, or whatever caused me fits of insomnia, disappear (or, at least, lessen) in the morning when the sun is out, the birds are chirping, and I have a chance to do things a little bit better.