Two little boys.
One is six, one is four, brown haired.
They play in the hard sand, holding sweet innocence in the palms of their hands, building things in the soft gravel.
Rivers, holes, mountains.
Splashing water, they try to fill up every inch of their imaginations with it.
Thoughts come to life.
After, they wash away the grains of hope from their feet.
Dry them off in the sun, let them slowly bake.
Let the sun soak you up beautifully.
Thoughts, words, pictures drown out their little voices, as they dream within their naive precious little selves, not realizing how much they've grown since yesterday.