Drops of Color/ Red Shovel

Drops of Color

Red Shovel

There it was
lying on the path—
a price-tag dangling from its handle.

Who lost this treasure?
A simple red sand shovel…
it held the potential
to go ‘deep’ into the sand.
Oh, what ‘one’ could create
with this ‘toy.

Reaching down,
I held it by its neck…
placing it in my pack so that it 
was visible…why?

Days passed—
the red shovel
stepped with me,
but it began to weigh down
my being.
“Let me dig,” it seemed
to say.

I was not about to stop,
and then
in front of me,
a clear path—

flowers strewn on both sides…
scented walls greener than green
cascading with blossoms…
a pond of fresh lilies to my left
—they held my gaze
I heard the fall!

She was five maybe six—
she was on the ground.
She was hurt,
she wanted to cry.
A little hole was in her pant leg—
her tiny hands cupped her tiny knee.

As she rose,
her father grasped her hand.
As she rose,
the little red shovel in my 
bag climbed out.

As I handed her the shovel,
a curve in her lips turned
upward…
a smile revealed.

“You, took a fall~~~
now you can use this shovel
to dig for treasures…
share with your brother.”

I glanced at the father
and then the mother—
their eyes spoke words
that were not echoed aloud.

Then, the little girl
holding the ‘toy’ in both hands,
said without prompt,
“Thank you!”

I walked on.
I discovered the buried treasure.

(Excerpt from a Journal in Wales/Pembrokeshire Coast Path)

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