Waves on a Glassy Beach

         The waves of the lagoon gushed by our gondola’s as we headed toward the main island of Venice; Venice the queen of the sea! It was carnival time and my family’s glass was going to San. Marco’s square to compete with other local glass makers. The February month had pasted us by so quickly, as we worked and worked, preparing the glass for this spectacular event. The water slashed by my gondola as we neared the square. We arrived like an army; gondola after gondola filled with the most exquisite glass ever made. The sun welcomed us, by rising high in the sky with flaming colors such as red and orange, the colors of our glass. Its rays bouncing around and off our masks, which had been made of our special glass. As we docked the our boats I noticed that the square was empty except for the occasional pigeon, flying around hoping that someone would drop by and feed them. My father, the glass maker, road in his gondola at the rear of our procession with his masterpiece in his lap, his arms rapped tightly around it. He had spent months working on this spectacular sculpture of a lion, but not just any lion, but the lion of Venice. Every year during carnival time all the glass makers in the area would gather and present there own masterpiece to the judges. The judges would go through all the pieces and select the piece that was most worthy; the best crafted and the most beautiful.
         My father was so proud of his lion. It was hard for my to tell him that he couldn’t possibly win, with something that was so obvious. The judges were looking for pieces that were unique and different.
         Father however insisted that his was unique because the lion was holding a miniature of San. Marco’s square in its paw. I was proud that he didn’t give up, no mater what I said. He kept going and such confidence in himself.
         I sat on a small stool as my brothers and uncle’s set up the ten, where we would display all our marvelous glass. I watched as family after family came into the square, bringing there sculptures and other pieces. I wished that I hadn’t even come, for I hated to see my father’s disappointed face when someone else won the grand prize.
         I slowly began to wonder among the other booths checking out the other competitors as they set up there treasures. I saw everything from dragons to castles and from goblets to crosses. I longed to take my mask off and see all the wonders with my own eyes, but I couldn’t. It was a rule that no one knew who they were competing against. I guess it eases up all the revelries that were going on at that time. The people watched as I walked past, wondering who I was and what I was doing observing the others work, before the judges came. They thought it was bad luck. People in Venice could be very superstitious. I however didn’t care. I hated all the competition that goes on in the islands anyway. Everyone likes there own work, better then anyone else’s. That’s how my father was. He thought that Murano glass was the best glass ever made, and he looked down upon every one else.
         I had finished going through all the rows of tents and was standing next to the bell tower, when my brother found me. He didn’t say anything, he just grabbed me by the hand and dragged my along after him. I knew I was in trouble, and was going to get it from my father. My skirts dragged behind me as he rushed me back over to my family’s booth. I entered the tent, expecting to hear my father yelling. But he wasn’t. To my astonishment he was crying, and his eyes were filled with sadness. He wasn’t the only one, for my brother and uncles all looked like there had been a death in the family. I looked at my father and asked him what was wrong.
         “Che e’ andato male (What went wrong)?” I asked rushing over to my father’s side. He pointed over to the corner, lost for words. I looked over and say millions of tiny pieces of glass spread out in the corner. My father’s beautiful creation! I made my way over to the pile and knelt down beside them. I reached out carefully and picked up the closest piece, and to my surprise it wasn’t even sharp. I held it in my hand and examined it closely, realizing for the first time that it was the miniature of San. Marco’s square, unharmed by the accident. I slowly placed the piece of glass into my apron pocket and turned to face my family. I felt bad that I had put my father down, even if it was to myself. He had been so proud of his creation. My entire family looked so sad, like someone had just passed on,
         I couldn’t find words in my mouth to express my sorrow for him. So I slowly went over to him and put my arms around him and embraced him, feeling that it was all I could do.
         Finally the simplest if words floated to my lips. “Sono molto spiacente (I’m sorry)!”  I said, and then I turned around and began to pick up all the shards of glass and placed them in my apron. I held the tips of the cloth delicately so that none of the glass would fall out. I slowly then began to walk back through the crowd toward the lagoon where our gondola’s were waiting. I slowly turned around and saw that my family followed not far behind me.
         I led a mourning parade across the lagoon and back toward the island of Murano. My father would go back to his everyday life of placing orders and creating new masterpieces, and soon enough he would teach my older brother all of his tricks, then pass the business on to him. Like his father had done for him.
         I would never own the factory; I would never even learn to make glass. My place would be at home or in the show room, selling the glass to people around the world, watching as one by one my fathers creations where sold and then taken away, replaced by works of the new glass master.          
         My gondola was first to reach the dock, that led to our factory. I slowly got myself out of the shinny black gondola and stepped onto the swaying dock. Right below me was the lagoon. I glanced over toward the large building and noticed that there was a kind of beach forming right underneath our factory. I walked closer and saw the tiny pieces of sand gathering there and forming a small slope, and an underwater beach.
         I glanced over the lagoon and saw my family making there way across to the factory. There gondola’s looked like coffins proceeding across the water, away from the sunshine. I leisurely took one last gaze at my family and then slowly let go of my apron, watching as all the broken pieces of specially made glass gracefully fell into the water. I gazed at the water, until all the pieces had settled comfortably into the sand, and the water was still. Before I entered the building I placed the miniature of San Marco’s square on one of the many posts coming up from the water. The sun hit it and the glass twinkled in the sun light, as if full of new life and energy.
         Over the years every piece of spare or scrape glass that I could find went into to the lagoon next to the factory, and over the years the sandy beach began to form into a glassy one. The colors, so unique and extraordinary there was nothing like it in all of Venice. An arrangement of blue’s and greens, as well as pinks and yellows.
         When I was old and hardly able to walk I would send my son out to place all the scrapes in to the water. One day, he and my brother came to me and led me out there, to visit the beach that I had created. My eyes had already failed me, and so I couldn’t see what it all looked like. But as I stood there silently I imagined the colors and all the life in the water. In the distance I heard a faint tinkling sound, coming from the water. Almost like chimes in the wind. I also heard the tide.
         I could almost picture the tide coming in and out, swishing upon all the glass. As the water went back down the hill of glass it made a beautiful symphony of chimes, polishing the glass and it came and went.
         My son and my brother soon left, leaving me to listen to the sounds of my beloved Venice. The sound of water and glass. After a while of just standing there, my grey hair flying in the wind, I whispered the onlt words that described the sounds.
         “I suoni affascinati dell’ acqua sulla spiaggia           simile a veto!” which in common tongue meant, “How enchanting the sound of the water on the glassy beach."