Dust and Water

I watch a little one’s fascination with soft skin. 

“Old and baggy," the jaded call it. 

But to the innocent’s eyes, 

     it's soft and magic. 

I remember staring at my grandmother’s hands, feeling her blue veins and soft skin. 

     I thought she was beautiful.

Now, as I close in on the age that she was then, I find myself staring at my own “softening” skin, loosening around the edges that I use most. 

     My mind momentarily has thoughts of dread and judgment of "better days."

     But to a child, no such thing. 

This dust and water that covers us... 

     To an open mind, it remains as beautiful as a snowflake, 

         holding the entire miracle of life in its mere being.