The fog is clearing

From the corners of mine eyes

As years slip by

The haze dissipates

And I start to see

What was shrouded

Slowly revealed

Through the layers

Of mist and conditioning

Of youth and foolishness

The things of true import

Time, freedom, love

Understanding, growth

Patience and kindness

Truth - I see the truth

And I long to speak it

To shout to the rooftops

What has taken me a lifetime

To try to understand

But all comes in good time

It is clear now

As the sand flows through

That pain leads to understanding

To kindness and patience

And the ability to revel in peace

That broken hearts lead to tenderness

To care and gentle words

To tears kissed away

To shared cups of tea

And wicked cryptic crosswords

Aching joints and muscles

Lead to exercise and movement

And delighting in the pleasure

Of inhabiting this body

In all its perfect imperfection

Fits of sadness and depression

And retreating to the jagged

Grey corners of my heart

Make the sunshine warmer

The flowers more radiant

The sand that's flowed is gone

I'll never retrieve it

From the hands of time

But what's left is mine

Mine and no-one else's

To spend how I choose

Sickness or health

Love or loneliness

Creativity or boredom

Peace or despair

I am the scribe of my destiny

The only one who holds the pen

And I can choose to live

My dreams or my nightmares

Hmm, I think I choose dreams

The kid sat cross-legged near the picture books, whispering the words aloud. She didn’t notice the old man at first—sitting stiff by the window, a thick book in his lap, hands slow on the pages.

Her mom was a few shelves over, fingers skimming spines, half-looking, half-tired.

The old man smelled like the bus, like the street. His coat was too heavy for the LA afternoon, but maybe it was all he had. He lingered too long on one page, squinting behind old glasses.

The kid watched him the way kids do—without shame, without looking away.

“You read slow,” she said.

He almost laughed. “Yeah. Used to be fast. Tore through these like nothing.”

She looked down at her book, pages still stiff, colors bright.

“What happened?”

He shrugged. “Takes time to see what’s really there.”

She squinted, like she was trying to see it too. Then her mom called her name, keys jangling.

She stood, brushing off her jeans. “Maybe you’ll get fast again.”

The man chuckled. “Maybe.”

She ran off, sneakers squeaking. The old man turned back to his book—but didn’t turn the page yet.

An hourglass measures time. Hence the “hour” part of its name. However, I view the connected glass bulbs differently. I see an hourglass as an analogy of our journey and what we gain from the world around us. Instead of the sand recording seconds, to me it represents the knowledge and opportunities which compose a meaningful life not just the eclipse of time.

When we are born, our hourglass is inverted. The top portion is the future that will reveal itself in an orderly fashion. The grains passing through the narrow opening are the present. Our world expands as ideas and experiences collect below. With so much open area to fill, initially the introduction of sand creates a seemingly random pattern. Like newborn babies, everything is bewildering. It’s a strange existence. But soon, the gathering sand begins filling the empty spaces. This forms our understanding. What was foreign and haphazard becomes identifiable and routine. Soon a conical shape appears. That is our past to be built upon.

Adolescence is when information is disseminated so rapidly, it buries what you were exposed to prior. The more sand compiled, the more overwhelming it seems and the higher the probability of getting frustrated. Wisdom is displaced by confusion. What’s relevant is brought back to the surface when the glass is shaken by concerned, external forces.

Teenagers can get anxious about the uncertainty of what has yet to be revealed. Only having a perspective from the inside looking up, they can’t grasp there’s more to come from above. They’re unaware of what is visible to those standing on the outside. Pre-adults don’t realize patience will be rewarded with awe-inspiring wonderment.

Maturity is reached when you’re accustomed to the rate of bombardment and can differentiate between what’s important and what should be ignored. At this stage, the pertinent sand reinforces the solid foundation underfoot. While trivial sand is left to fall by the wayside. With the accumulation comes more options. Digging deep into what’s at your disposal can be useful in creating something better.

Some who have achieved senior citizen status believe in the falsehood that their time will be done when there’s nothing left in the chamber above. They wonder at this juncture, why bother living? From my perspective though, that’s a fallacy because each of our glasses is much bigger than we imagine. The opportunity for learning never ceases and neither does the sand.

Plus, an hourglass beyond our scope of comprehension will reveal itself to us when the moment arises. And transitioning to that one will be Heavenly.

As a teen

Before I open the side door

to enter my modest home,

I remove both my sneakers,

turn them upside down, shake them,

and watch the warm, dirty sand

pour down like a tipped hourglass.

The granular souvenir

of my visit to the beach

settles on a flower bed,

soon to be blown away

and forgotten. Good riddance.

In old age

Wistfully I peer out the window

of my assisted living home.

I remove both my slippers,

turn them upside down, shake them,

and imagine that I see sand

pour down like a tipped hourglass.

The granular memory

of my visit to the beach

as a young man is fading

and getting harder to recall.

Please, God, don’t let me forget.

As time passes, life becomes clearer.

Things that were untouchable

Are now coming nearer.

Life challenges becomes

Legendary.

Anger and resentment

Becomes secondary.

People are faced with poison from the past.

How long will racial bias last?

Can we overcome lessons taught to dismantle?

Can we become one, and together it will be handled?

Learn to love and love to live,

Is all we need to do.

At that point the hour glass

Will be worth looking through.

"Is it lonely?"

"Sometimes," he whispers through a toothy smile.

She studies him. He has the touch of gray and tip-toeing crow’s feet of a man in his early forties, but his energy spoke both of vibrant youth and ancient gravitas.

"Why not use your gaze?" Pointedly, she locks eyes with him.

"The more sand has escaped from the hourglass of our life, the clearer we should see through it."

"How very poetic. What's it mean in this instance?"

"I learned a century ago that asking has better long term potential than taking."

Eventually, she forgets what dawn looked like.

The more sand has escaped from the hourglass of our life, the clearer

we should see through it

And yet clarity eludes us, glass scraped by sand grains,

or etched thin by time’s passage

Or is the glass glasses, and the hour passing the life we ought to be leading?

Can one see through another’s hour? Time winds down, wraps up

We all inch inexorably closer to doom and yet

None of this feels real at all. Not the doom

not the glass nor the grains of sand elapsing within,

all feel more metaphor than actuality, unlike

keys typing these words, the numbers on the clock

digitally changing, moving further and further along the timeline.

Time ekes its way along regardless of measuring system.

Sea glass has worn smooth

rough edges of the broken hourglass metaphor, smashed amidst the frustration with time.

Time is like sand, sifting through one's fingers, only to end up as a pile of bittersweet memories at the bottom of a shapely hourglass that is our life. There is no beating it or escaping it. It is ever-flowing, constantly changing, and never the same at any point.

When we are young and our eyes have just become accustomed to the harsh light of day, our hourglasses are full to the brim with sand. For some the sand runs out quick, in the blink of an eye, taking them before life does in its own brutal way. But for others, it moves ever so slightly through the funnel of their hourglass so that every moment is dragged out, torturous even, so much so that they are forced to beg for death, only to receive silence from the Almighty above.

As time passes and the sand begins to accumulate, the world beyond the hourglass begins to seem clearer and easier to navigate. Anxiety is eased and a newfound confidence fills up one's being with every passing second. The filtered sand functions as currency to ensure one's happiness and well-being until one day, it runs out and life is over before you know it.

So dearest reader, make sure to spend your time on Earth wisely. Do not take for granted the fact that you are alive for life though tumultous is still beautiful, and make the most of the sand that your specific hourglass has been bestowed with. Wield the rising pile like the sharpest sword and slice through the mesmerizing facades of this world with strokes of perfection. The result will be a life worth living, one that will be celebrated for centuries to come. After all, who doesn't want to live forever?