A Jar of Sand

My family and I travelled and collected seven sands from all around Australia.
This Jar of Sand sits on the top of the piano,
watching the years go by.
Whenever I look at the jar, it reminds me
of every bright blue sea, and all the amazing adventures I’ve had, carefree.
The deep red sand was collected, bogged in the middle of nowhere and neglected.
The crystal white sand retrieved on a beautiful beach while we lay relieved.
The amber-coloured one on a camel ride in Broome, hot and unrelenting sun.
The terracotta sand in Kakadu that I picked up with my own hand.
The harder cream sand with rocks in it gathered by my sister on a coast line, harsh and haggard.
Right in the middle of our jar, was a beach in Cape Leveque. On the map, it’s the size of a speck.
And last but not least, the very bottom that holds our trip, we got it surfing a tide rip.
I remember the feeling of the sand between my toes early in the morning,
Sometimes I think about where the sand could have been before we came walking.
That morning I’d rather be nowhere else in the world.
It’s probably millions of years old, and had millions of people step on it, trying to withhold.
The Jar of Sand sitting at home is special to me,
The memories, the stories, the adventures,
The joy, love and happiness, it’s our family’s history
There is so much to explore in our little Jar of Sand.