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She parked her walker at the side of the old beach bench and reached her shaky hands into the pocket for her sunglasses. After fumbling through small bags of tissues and her pack of daily pills, she found them and clipped them onto her bifocals. Her vision isn’t what it used to be, even with glasses, but she didn’t see the point in getting new ones. Her sight was blurry and the glaucoma had hazed away her view.
She could still make out the children making sand sculptures: castles, moats, faces, and animals. She watched them play in all the sand they had left in their hourglasses while sitting on wood on pavement. Their grains of grit will slowly wash away with the creations they’ve built with their time, and they’ll eventually figure out it’s all temporary.
She pitied them, for their houses were built on sand. Even their castles would not survive against the tide. For those precious grains to slow their falling, they would have to be burnt to glass – hardened, but the flames take their toll. It is best just to build your house on the rock.