Ash in the Sand

Flash in the pan

Ash in the sand

Cash in hand?

Don’t be rash, man!

Smash the band

Trash what’s planned

Unabashedly panned 

Crashes are banned

Flashes are fanned

Clashes be damned

Trenches are manned

Matches are bland

Crutches aren’t grand

Brash is the man

Crass is the ham

Rush in the Spam!

Brush off the lamb

Blame the Brioche

Don’t get too close

Won’t drink Rooibos

Frankly, verbose

Saintly, he rose

Faintly she throws

Daintily we voice

Crazy our choice

Brash new boys

National noise

Kalashnikov toys

Passionate poise

Crashing gate ploys

Kissing eight hands

Flash in the pan

Ash in the sand

This word play is fun, Melinda... but it doesn’t MEAN anything!!

True... but it’s where my mind wants to go after a day of scattering Mom’s ashes in the hills of Echo Park and at her most familiar camping beach.

Well, you can’t sum up ninety two years as a “flash in the pan!”

True... but in geologic time a century is an eye-blink... and there she was... ash in the sand, and...

Cash in hand? Really, now...

The Day Use Parking Fee at Leo Carillo...

It’s no use... trying to convince you it’s drivel is a hopeless endeavor. I might as well be throwing ash in the wind.

Exactly! We had a lovely day to say our final good b’ye (God be with ye) and what remained of her physical bits looked lovely on the wind - wraith-like and utterly temporal. The parts that stick in our hearts and minds - the spirit of our mom - will be inside us for eternity!

“To understand is to stand under which is to look up to which is a pretty good way to understand!”   ---Sister Corita Kent