A Fuller Moon

The sandbox is a dangerous place

Jim Dutton
The Lark Publication


Imagined with MidJourney, edited by author

Brushman is a spy.

He hides behind a dune, watching the platoon through binoculars. He’s taking mental notes of their position and troop strength.

Cap’n Rogers, the platoon leader, marches them across the sandbox battlefield with fierce determination and a rifle by his side. The Cap’n is tall, good-looking, and wears a constant grimace. He’s like my dad, only green.

Brushman is even more handsome. He is taller and made of weightier stuff — a grey metal ghost of a spy. Cap’n Rogers and his men could beat him in a fight, that’s for sure. But Brushman’s sneaky. I carefully adjust his position and pile some more sand onto the dune to make sure nobody spots him. The Cap’n is my favorite soldier, but I don’t hate Brushman, and I wouldn’t want him to get caught. He stands perfectly still, leaden feet webbed together and buried in sand, his field glasses never leaving his eyes.

Brushman’s new to my sandbox army. I named him after the real Brushman — the one who comes to visit us every few weeks. Mom loves brushes. Hair brushes, clothes brushes, even toilet brushes. As soon as one of our brushes wears out, or even gets a little dirty, she throws it out and buys a new one from Brushman the next time he comes by.