Solidified sand separated swiftly. Hands hurriedly cupped and curling. Without a tool do my hands dig, like a truffle hunting pig.  A beach sparse with people and smoothened by wind is where I started digging. Digging is fun, digging deep is delightful, and digging deliquescent dunes is dreamlike. Mind blank, moving mole-like my hands move, for fun and frustration is expected in the future. A trip to the beach to dig, others play or swim, but I dig, because it is fun to my youthful self of 8 Summers. Without reason or true purpose other Dig dig dig for fun, the start is fast and the sand is loose.

My mind thinks its first thought in minutes, “How far down is the water?” my mind asked myself, “Around maybe 30 more minutes.” answers myself with past experience as a source.

Everything is normal around the mole-like miner, the sea is green, and its gulls gray. The birds barrage the beaches looking for bounty. All is normal, and the hole grows deeper. The excess sand forms a wall stopping the hole from becoming a well, and that wall only grows. The digging continues and the dryness dies out, in favor of compacted sand. The digging gets harder, so the hurry hands slow trying to gouge greater pieces than before. The time transforms into a constraint containing my digging desire. To increase the depth my digging must dive down into the hole scraping the floor and then pulling myself up to add more to the rising water blocking wall. A test of depth is in order and up to hips the hole happens to be. A twinge of pain and a slight nick appears on my finger, a gaze for the culprit shows a small crab crazily eyed and mad at my mistake misusing my hands and disturbing it. To fix this issue my sand scraped hands dig a small branching path, in which the small crab goes. Eye stalks moving and claws clamping a final time, the crab crawls in and covers the crevice with clinging sand. The whole hole is not done yet, it must be deeper, I wish to see water waiting at the bottom. 

A persisting pause for food fills in the hole somewhat by way of other humans kicking sand in. The lunch has sand encrusted in it just like the hands holding it, yet any food is welcome after a time spent digging. Back to the hole and back to how much my back hurts from the constant dipping in and out making it deeper. My hands protest and wish for looser sand as respite. A cry and plead arises around myself for a break of the dipping and the compacted sand. “Lie down for a bit, please.” my back urges.

“I am bejeweled in sand,” my hands complain.

“Make the hole deeper,” Commands my mole-like self

“Make it wider at the top for easier sand and less up and down.” comments my brain, being used for the first time in hours. 

So it was, an easier path around the edge had begun beguiling my hands with easy moving grains. My back caterwauls for rest, yet easy to ignore the mule-like mole miner finds it wails to be. Ignoring incites, as was the sand. Stubbornness and wish for fun drove my hands into the sides of the hole to expand. Time passes again and the end of the day comes near. My Mom tells me we are leaving in around 30 minutes, so I should clean up and try to un-encrust the sand from my hands. 

The hole was not done, it is never done. Because of time and with a sense of sadness for what has to happen, I break down the water blocking wall and start to fill in the hole. It takes some time, yet as I pat down the sand into place I am content with how I spent my day at the beach. The feeling of nostalgia was already forming and now it is a fond memory of a fun dig that had been and will be repeated. The walk to the water is without remorse of time “wasted” digging a hole now filled in. The sand is like a second skin and trying to get it off leaves my skin underneath very exfoliated.  A rough and rapid polish of skin gives way to hurried steps to aid in packing up. A look around for our items showed that the dig’s dune disguise had taken effect, hiding the recent pat down of sand and the exhuming of its contents. The evidence of that dig is dusted like the others, but its memory and entertainment will inspire more of its kind.