Sand
copyright 2026 by Don Taco
I went to the beach, with my young daughter, like you do. She loves to dig around in the sand and discover things. I like to sit still and not think about the work I need to do. It's a match made in heaven.
Ever really looked at the sand? We toss the word around like it's a common, generic item, barely worthy of our attention.
Ever looked at a mountain, and realized that it was mostly an enormous piece of rock that got all displaced by the forces that shape our world, slowly, oh so slowly, but inexorably all the same. And all around the mountain are the pieces of the rock that have broken off and fallen downhill. And at the bottom of the valleys, that the rivers make when the rains run down the mountain are smaller and smaller pieces of rock that water and wind and weather have broken up, tossing them around, and smashing them against each other, and wearing the edges smooth. Down to the gravel that fills the places between the rocks, and the sand that fills the places between the gravel.
If you take a good look at a handful of sand, with a magnifying glass, or through a microscope, you'll see that it's anything but homogenous.There's every kind of shape and color imagineable, all ground down and thrown together by the waves and the friction of the world. And every sort of material, from the darkest obsidian to the gaudiest garnet, with plenty of granite, and even man-made materials like colored glass, and undoubtedly some plastic, plus seashells and bits of stick, perhaps some dried kelp, and possibly even whalebone, although not enough to even begin to duplicate your great-great-aunt's corset. Maybe one for an actual ant. Not to mention any and every color you ever dreamed of.
So, there I am, resting in the sand, giving no consideration to the wonder of it all, when my daughter races up to me with her plastic bucket full of bits of broken glass and shells and tiny stones, in all the glorious colors that caught her eye that day, and says, with all the love that's in her, "I got something for you!"
And I, with all the love that's in me, say, "Oh? And what is it?"
And she hands me the pail, full of broken colored bits, and says, "It's a box of rainbows!"
What happens to us when we get all caught up in the machinery of being an adult and working to survive and thrive and suffer the indignities of this troublesome world, what happens to us is that we forget how to see the world and the wonder in it. But there's always a new generation who haven't forgotten yet, and in that is where all our hope for our future lies.
"It's a box of rainbows!"