Grabbing a handful of wet, saturated sand, I let it dribble through my finger tips.  I watch each drop pile on top of the previous, draining away the water and leaving a new building block of solid sand.  Too much water and the previous drip will be washed away.  Too little and the sand cracks and refuses to hold together.  I watch the sand grow, getting into a rhythm that ensures just the right amount of water, without thought.

My thoughts are not on the mechanics of building a drip castle with sand.  Instead, I’m thinking of the spire that I’m building.  Can I build these two spires toward each other and form an arch?  Can I make this slender spire taller?

Frequently I fail and a part of the castle slides down, becoming part of the landscape again.  Or becoming a foundation for a new part of the castle.  No matter.  It’s the building of the castle that brings me joy–not the owning of it.  For I will never own it.  The sea soon comes and takes it away.

Last weekend, I drove six hours down to Floyd, Virginia for a Code Retreat organized by Gustin Prudner and led by Corey Haines.  There, I joined thirty-some people working in pairs and threes on Conway’s Game of Life for forty-five minutes at a time.  Then, Corey would call time, and we would wash away all traces of what we’d built.

Does that sound like a waste of time?

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