Emma May’s Sandbox
Emma May’s Sandbox
“Do you think that it’s okay to go out and play in my sandbox, now, Father?”
“Yes,” answered her father, “The storm’s long gone now.”
Emma couldn’t wait to play in her new sandbox. She ran out through the porch door and down the steps to the ground. But as she got closer to the sandbox she suddenly stopped. “Oh no!” Emma said to herself. “I forgot to put the cover back on top of my sandbox after I finished playing in it yesterday. The storm has washed away all the sand,” she continued. “Now what will I do?”
“What is it Emma?” questioned her father, as he came out onto the porch. “What’s wrong, dear?”
“Now, now, Emma May,” said her mother, as she too walked out onto the porch. “It can’t be all that bad, now can it?”
“Everything will be okay,” replied her father, “I’ll get you some new sand tomorrow, from down at the creek bed. There’s plenty of sand lying around there.”
“Okay, Father,” replied Emma, “And thank you. But, there is a little sand left in my sandbox, I guess I can play with it until you get more tomorrow.”
“Very well,” said her mother, as she and Emma’s father went back inside the cabin. Emma went into her sandbox and started shoveling what remained of the sand into her little wooden bucket. But as she put another scoop onto the shovel she suddenly dropped it. “What is going on here,” Emma asked herself, after seeing the sand inside the bucket begin to sparkle
“What do you mean?” asked a strange voice from inside the bucket.
“Who are you?” asked Emma.
“Why, I am your sand, Emma May,” was the reply from the bucket.
“But sand can’t talk,” said Emma, as she shook her head.
“Well, Emma May, I’m not supposed to sparkle either,” again spoke the voice, “but as you can see, I’m doing that too!”
Emma didn’t know what to do; she just stood there, starring down into the bucket of sparkling and talking sand.
“O-Okay,” said Emma, as she shoveled in the rest of the sand.
“Thank you, Emma May,” responded the sand. “Now toss me into the wind, so that I can go and find the rest of my sand; the part of me that was washed away by the storm.”
Emma grabbed onto the bucket with both hands and threw the sand out into the air. Emma watched in amazement as the sparkling sand encircled her, then flew away with the wind.
“Mother!” Emma shouted as she ran back inside the cabin.
“What is it, Emma,” asked her mother.
“It’s my s-sand, Mother? The sand spoke to me, a-and it was sparkling…”
“Now, Emma?” interrupted her father. “Your imagination is tricking you. Sand doesn’t sparkle unless the sun is shining on it. There isn’t any sun out today, and sand certainly can’t talk.”
“B-But, Father,” replied Emma, as tears ran down her cheeks.
“Emma May!” said her mother. “You must listen to what your father has told you. It’s just your imagination.”
Emma suddenly sprang to her feet and raced through the cabin–on her way outside to the sandbox.
“Why, I don’t believe what I’m seeing,” Emma whispered under her breath. “It’s here… all the sand that was washed away from the storm has returned?” Emma walked back up to the porch steps, then turned back around to see the sand briefly sparkle, as though it was winking at her.
“Are you okay out there, Emma?” questioned her mother, as she walked to the front door and looked out through the screen at Emma.
“I-I’m fine, Mother, “smiled Emma, as she turned and winked back at her sandbox. “Everything is just fine, Mother…”
(To be continued)
“EMMA MAY’S SURPRISE JOURNEY”