"Time marches on." How many times have I heard this saying? Yet, never have I felt the weight of that truth quite like I did tonight. I watched them, their beautiful lines moving across the grass. They, like time, were marching. All in sync, all in step, all in their TEENS. I remember those days. Trumpets and flutes, trombones and bass drums all marching to the beat, making their way across the football field. I, with my flag in hand, would weave in and out of their formations...toes pointed, hands lifted high. My heart beating out of my chest, I would flick my wrist and release, watching the shimmering blue and gold fabric glide through the air, followed by the shiny black pole that would always land right back in my hands. Then gently placing the flag on the ground, I would dance...leaping gracefully across the fifty yard line to the sound of soaring brass. Twelve years have passed and now I sit in the bleachers, watching a new generation of young women march and dance, twirl and toss. I am reminded that time is marching on, and that just like those high school days, another chapter is about to come to an end.
so much sand at the bottom
of the hourglass