i was holding his hand
and stroking his hair
little boy that he was.
we were in the mountains
touched by the wind,
kissed by each other.
then he looked at me
and pointed to the nearby mountain
towering over us
its infinite grandeur shaming
us. our delusions of paradise.
and he pointed to a grain of sand
and we watched it swept by the wind
as it danced for a second
against the foot of the mountain
undaunted by the futility.
and then it fell again
same as it was before.
and he looked at me
and wiped the tear from my eye.
"Nice metaphor," he grinned.
Back.