Constant Change

I look over the mound
Of withering sandstone
Seeking frames for textures

A few grains of sand
Knocked loose by the breeze
Skitter down a miniature ravine
Knocking loose a few more
Along the way
All coming to rest
With so many other grains
Collected in a miniature valley
Slowly filling up
With grains of sand

It occurs to me
Everything which exists
Is in a constant state
Of transition

Even my thoughts
Even me
As I turn again to the task
Of finding the beauty
Transition creates
If only for a moment