As I passed along the beach that day,
observing children all at play.
Mums and dads taking in the sun.
A time of bliss for everyone.
In the distance the sea so still and calm,
while shimmering sunlight enhanced its charm.
Unprepared for events about to unfold,
and my next encounter to behold.
I chanced upon a strange old man,
with bearded face and weathered tan.
So different was he, he was set apart,
as his eyes about the beach did dart.
Then a smile developed on his face
as he wandered slowly with air and grace.
Then crouching low and with his hand
he made a mark within the sand.
He then with paces long and wide,
Strode to and fro for to decide.
A perfect spot, a place to start,
and so began his creative art.
Intrigued, I watched him build a mound.
With spade he smoothed the surface round.
In wonder, I observed him shed a tear
as in the sand did an image appear.
Slowly, as I gazed in awe,
most humbled now at what I saw.
‘Twas the image of our Christ the Lord,
Whilst our craftsman toiled without a word.
With pleasing smile our eyes did meet,
as finally, it was complete.
He raised his head, his face was bland,
incredibly like the face in the sand.
He packed and on his way did go.
For who he was, will I ever know?
I watched him as in brilliant light,
saw him disappear from sight.
Alas, the evening seas advanced,
and along the shore the waves danced.
The ever, ever, rising tide
will very soon this image hide?
I hope we’ll meet again one day.
Perhaps he’ll help show me the way.
To teach and let me understand,
this strange old man who builds with sand.
© BJ Woods