Currents
He smells of sea salt as he leads me to the current.
My tiny toddler hands can only fit around,
one of his grandpa fingers.
He sits me on a sandy rock and faces me towards the seashore.
Lettting go of my hand as he points and tells me to look.
So I do.
At the sea gently slapping barncle rocks, and the soppy sand beneath my toes
at the gentle line of the sun going down on the horizin.
Life comes in currents he says
some may be hot and others cold.
He places a pebble in my hand his skin rough with years of labour.
You will change like this rock
but dont forget, just becuse your diffrent doesnt change that your a rock.