Just Some Short Little Morals

The hand was gentle. It was seen in the pick. Though there were callouses, it was seen that the hand was gentle. The skin gently let little wrinkles because the fingers were folded slightly.

A light fell upon those fingers, showing the dirt under the fingernails.

But, that wasn't the main part. The main part was of the sand. Yes, the sand. The sand that gently trickled through the fingers, caught mid-air. And the sand that slowly slipped away. Little by little. Those little brown, tan and different colored shaded grains that slipped by, quicker than the eye. One second there, the next gone.

A light flickered across the sand. Hitting a green one that was different from the others.

..And, at the bottom of the pic, a saying was seen: "Life is like this sand held by these strong hands. It may slip through faster than you can blink..But, no matter how strong you are, you are that little green piece of sand. You are different from others. Be glad."

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There they were. Those little grubby people with those non-instruments in their hands. One was a drumstick..The other a single blade of grass...The other yet tapping shoes...And the rest a mixture of what could be called a piano. The piano was made of different things. Like, for instance, a stick. And then the next thing was a stick of plastic. The other a rock. And so on. Together it made a magical melody.

There were around four people or so. The first, with the drumsticks and trashcan lids, wore a bright orange shirt. A hat. And aripped overcoat. His pants were an army green. And he had a little spot of dirt on his cheek. That chubby cheek, even though he didn't eat much. His job in this band was to give off a small tempo....On the trashcan lids. Those meltal lids would hum and let out a small thud each time hid.

The next person. The person who controlled the blade of grass...Let out a small blow. And the grass weaved in response. Letting it be known that it tickled. The grass hummed, vibrating.

The third person. The one little kid who wore those so shiny shoes, let out a small clack whenever he walked. He was...Young. Around thirteen or fourteen. And his clothes a little too baggy. He had a small speck of dirt on his nose, a smudge of brown on his hand and looked tan...But that was just the dirt. His job was to let low a loud clacking noise, those shoes hitting the pavement with ease.

The next. And last to main person, controlled that so odd piano. It was like a mixing pot, all different things making it come together for the final effect. That person had a drumstick in his hand, ready to begin the xylophone beat.

And then the tune began. It was a mixture of noise. Noises that would be considered annoying, if not for the fact that they blended so well together. And, with those four people making that music on those sidewalks, a crowd gathered. Noise muttered throug hit and money was spared for once. This was worth it.

Those musical notes rang through the sky, filling the day with a humming sound. Shadows danced upon the four people, making them seem less dirty...All in all it was...

..A miracle.

Moral of this is: Don't always go with the regular. Make a change...Take a chance. And let your music ring out. You, too, can make a difference.