Touch

Soft pastels, packed, in the red canvas bag. Drawing paper packed too. Intentions to create.

I touch none of it while I'm gone. Instead, it is I who am touched by mornings and evenings, myriad wonders. Grains of sand, beach grasses, trees sculpted into permanent leaning beside the sea.

Perhaps what fascinates most is the light. How it moves through, illumines, casts shadows long and lacy or haunting. I have never paid so much attention to light before; each day brings a new kind, and I follow it over dunes, into seed pods, over pebbled waters. I reach to touch it, but instead it touches me.


Shell at Sunset photo, by L.L. Barkat.