My Sister's Craft

My sister and I approach our craft so differently. I rest where the tide meets the sand and let the waves wash over my feet. The waves are words washing over my mind. I try to remember the poetry they speak when I find the time to write. My younger sister runs along ever new beaches with persistence and curiosity, using her hands to mold the sand into castles, organizing colorful shells, and listening to the hollow space within them that sings of the ocean waves. She makes time to carefully record the songs she hears from the seashells - each a slightly different melody - and leaves behind her a trail of achievements. Warm beach winds dance around us, sisters, blowing long hair wildly around sun-kissed faces.