“I’ve never really considered myself
just a street artist. I consider
myself a populist.”
~ Shepard Fairey
“Under Construction” read the message on the crumbling sand sculpture just beyond the grassy knoll. Only a few days ago, the mountain of sand was as solid as a rock, resembling a holiday billboard wishing all a “Mele Kalikimaka”, or “Merry Christmas”, in Hawaiian. The sandman artist returns every year, about this time, spending hours of daylight creating unique sand sculptures for all to admire. Tirelessly he hauls water in gallon buckets from the seashore and packs sand in a special technique that cements his efforts for a day or two. Many observers stop by to take family photos. Others chit-chat in friendly conversation. Still, eventually, the sculpture becomes irresistible to toddlers and young children who see it as a climbing apparatus found on the neighborhood playground. Being “King of the Mountain” is much more interesting to their immature minds than the artistic expression of an old soul.
Torn from a page in a spiral notebook was a handwritten note in purple ink. It read,
“Dear Love, You are beautiful. If the shoe fits, wear it. 😇 This is for you straight from Heaven. God Bless You Always! 😇❤️😇”
The jewel-toned sandals were an extraordinary treasure that magically appeared overnight. Could they be left there by an angelic sea nymph? The crescent-shaped bay, although public, seems like a private beach for leisurely walks, sand castle creations, paddle boarding, and sunbathing. Sometimes the water is as calm as a lake; other times the waves are strong enough to make you stumble. The sand is sugar-fine, raked smooth, and gentle on the feet. Once in awhile, sea shells and broken coral appear overnight to remind you the tide changes daily leaving unexpected treasures behind. Like today. The inner child can hardly contain the curiosity and discovery of something left behind after high tide. At the end of the beach where the cliff meets the bank, random driftwood and polished sea shells, added to the mysterious appearance of a thoughtful treasure. Was I the gracious recipient of Cinderella’s beach slippers, you wonder? Not this time. Alas, I don’t wear a size 7.