The sands of time

The sand trickles through the timer
Grain after grain
Uncertain as to how long is left
We can watch each grain
Become anxious and coiled
Like a spring ready to ping

Maybe we can step away from the timer
Accept we don’t know how long is left
Maybe we can walk through the wheat fields
Run our hands through the tall wheat
Across the fields of dreams
Feeling the wind, the rain, the sun
Feeling alive
And no longer waiting for the final grain of sand to fall.