Photography by Abigail Montgomery Betts
Oct 18 at 3:34 PM
Sand runs through my hand like a stream of water, as if there were no molecules of air between each grain. It appears that there is a solidity to it, and I watch it – dark, burnt red – nothing like what filled the sandbox back home or lay on the beaches of the lakes or reservoirs.
I dig my hand deeper into the sun-warmed Sedona sand to the cool spot below and imagine my hand an hourglass and I wonder if I squeeze my hand tighter, would it slow the sands of time? Time seems to be flying by so quickly. I wonder to myself, how many handfuls of sand would add up to fifty-one years?
The sand is so soft – like silk. So luxurious. The energy is light and fresh. It invigorates me, filling me up, like the bottom globe of the hourglass. I am filled with possibility for each grain is a moment in time. A moment to fill as I wish.