time to get up.

i wonder.

are my friends still alive?

it's been a long time away. a freshwater clam lies patiently on the seabed, waves creating a gentle rocking sensation. inside the mouth of the clam sits a grain of sand. the feeling of the sand is irritating to the sensitive membranes of the clam; aggravating, even. its shell turns a bright furious pink over a period of twentyfour years. regardless of its color, the clam sits patiently.

i wonder if they are still my friends.

on the twentyfourth day of the twentyfourth year, the clam wiggles. exhausted, it stops. then it wiggles again. eventually, the clam wriggles itself free from its sandy moorings and tips over. the clam has no eyes, just a shell for a mouth, and that annoying piece of sand inside that seems to get bigger and harder over time. wiggles, tips over. wiggles, tips over. suddenly the clam can move! but it takes so much energy.

being alone has its upsides, but i learn faster in conversation with smart people.

in the twentyfifth year, the clam realizes that has been rolling nonstop for a very long time. it doesn't know that one year has passed, because clams have no eyes to see the sun rise and fall. the clam can feel water pressure massaging its shell and caressing its lips; nearly at the shore, just a bit farther! high tide helps the clam roll along, and soon the clam feels warm, wet, hot, the edge of its shell tingling with excitement. in a moment of irrational clam exhuberance, it rolls completely out of the water. the clam is dripping, wet, warm from the sun and the strange new sensations. but so tired again, sleepy.

i wonder when i will be able to see them again. sometimes i wonder if all this is worth doing.

now out of the water, the clam yawns a big yawn, and out pops a priceless black pearl
that was once an annoying piece of sand.