Sand Hard Pressed and My Why

Upon the sand
no longer soft distraction playfully unstabled by imagination  
but now  
hard pressed into rock is where I stand, dry and unrushed land  
beneath my feet.  
 
Older.  
I am.  
 
I look around,  
viewing the whole terrain.  
I need to squint now  
more than a bit. 
Carefully  I look to see  
but take no step  
just yet.  
 
Carrying less minutia today than yesterday, is still  
too much weight
on my back
 to celebrate the now like I could would I drop it all how I should...  
For my journey through this hard land  
I do not need the extra  
wait of lies.    
Carrying less minutia today than yesterday at least.
 
Time shy's not,  
and my joints  
are more sore  
than they were before
but I can endure more than I could before,  
and I don't need
to be throwing my steps around  
any
more  
anyway.  

A sure small  
one at a time  
is all it takes,  
along with the mistakes and retakes-  
 
slow draws my line just fine.  
 
I turn around and see the blur of distance I have traveled.  
It's far,  
and staggering
with perfect correction unending  
a hand that never errs  
has taken great cares
for every detail  
of me,
 
obviously.
 
Fertile seeds sowing into
my hard heart  
for the lifetime,    
plus a forever springtime opening to blossom,
 
and now finally,  
for some moments
I am unrushing, 
 
as I have indeed  
stood upon this (hard pressed sand  
transformed to solid land)  
Rock unmoving beneath my feet  
for quite some time.  
 
The dryness of what appears barren  
hurts so much at times that I still want to burst  
so much at times,    
but this rhyme He's woven into me is a gift.
It thankfully washes my eyes of some delusion  
unties my own confusion-  
(life and death are real  
and this breath that's quickly passing is not a dream),     
and all His gifts are good.  
 
With dust everywhere
that's Why enough for me.