Just a Handful

A child sitting where the grass meets the sand. The air is filled with a harmonious humming of sounds, but she hears nothing. Her hand moves in waves across the dirt, and every now and again her head shakes her tightly bound curls from her face. They peak out from behind her ears trying to involve themselves in her tidious ordeal. I watch, just as invested. Her eyes pace, quickly, back and forth moving in rhythm with her elbows, and her wrists, which guide her delicate fingers one by one through the soil. She picks of a handful of sand. Is that just sand, or is that a pile of treasure? Could it be jewels, or coins, beads, or maybe a dozen sweet tarts. It is just a handful, or is it a full hand. One implies hardly anything while the other suggest nearly the greatest amount possible. Suddenly a bird fluttered down beside the young girl and in seconds her hands were empty and she was chasing after the squaking animal.. Just like that she had left what she had behind, interwined in the blades of grass. Maybe it was just sand, maybe it was something more... Just a handful.