squirming in the sand

dion's pizza earlier, some beers & gin later

I'm with a group of middle-aged and some older people. I've made sure that they have all brought their boxes. I start getting them situated in their boxes, most of which are about 3-foot cubes. One old man's box is painted red with yellow details, maybe with windows painted on, or stripes as if it were ribbon around a present. He crawls through the small swinging doggy-door-style opening. A woman, probably in her 50's, with country club helmet hair, has a more elaborate box, it is actually a small sand igloo, which she can somewhat recline in. She is in there, little wooden windows giving her a view of the outside world. I inspect her domicile, and then lay down in a slight depression in the sand just behind it. The sand is suprisingly loose, loamy, poseable. I start worming back into the warm sand, I kick with my legs and drive my shoulders back through it, I work my way down into a little trough. It is very comfortable, very pleasureable.



[Strangely enough, today when I was planting zinnia and marigold seeds out back, the soil in the bed was very much the same in texture, almost fluffy. But I have not touched that bed in a month, and that was just to turn it with a shovel, I didn't dig in it with my hands.]