Colored by expectations

I remember the first time 

My mom came to visit us 

At our new home in the Pacific Northwest. 

We took her to the beach — 

So excited to have one nearby — 

And her only response was to wrinkle her nose 

And say, “Why is the sand so dirty?” 

How often do our expectations, 

Colored by the past, muddy — even vilify — 

And determinedly negate 

The beauty that is here; that is now?