|Sandflea aka Sandhopper|
At Ambleside Beach on the last warm October day, warm enough to be shoeless and my girls almost clothes-less, my attention fell upon sand fleas bouncing at my feet. Tiny things that flung themselves haphazardly up what have must seemed like sand mountains to them. Over and over they leapt, rarely summiting; caught in avalanches of sand grains, they'd tumble back down. And if they would summit their sand mountains, they didn't pause for breath or consider their view, but instead, they immediately flung their bodies again. To land, and scramble, and fling. Over and over. Without apparent direction.
Sometimes I feel like that. Having leapt forward and landed, to have the sand shift beneath me and send me rolling down the mountain. Or, having landed and been granted a glimpse of accomplishment, I leap again my destination unclear. I leap haphazardly, flinging myself airborne with the possibility that I might yet arrive.