The Things We Leave Behind

Last summer,
while walking
along the shore
of Lake Michigan,
I came upon a gifted sight;
a face carved in the sand.
I thought it was rather spectacular.
So simple and so mysteriously complex at the same time.
Kind of artsy.
Kind of philosophical.
The tininess of each grain of its sand.
The vulnerability of its form.
The certainty of its ruin.
And yet, it was lovely and unaffected.
The ideal way to be.
No name attached.
No credit to be taken.
Nothing sought in return . . .
The pleasure of its moment
for both its creator
and its immediate contacts.
It was really a footprint . . . something left behind.
Something beautiful and unselfish.
Something generous.
Something much more significant than the empty bottle of water left behind by someone else just a few yards up.


After reading Jon's beautifully expressed comment, I edited this post to include his words. He is a brilliant thinker and writer. Please visit Jon Zech's blog.
It's a sacrifice of sorts, this sculpture and this post. But there is something more. Your photo and poetic tribute has saved the sandman from destruction; like taking a flower from an alter and pressing it in a book. Is the flower saved or the sacrifice denied?
Both and neither. The sacrifice is completed with its giving. The salvation is completed when the object is raised above its token existence.