Being in Destin Florida has allowed me to indulge one of my most decadent desires...daily walks along the beach.
Day after day miles and miles of white sand squished through my toes and adhered to most surfaces of my skin. I didn't mind the sand. It's one of the best parts, really. It's unpredictable and shifting nature causes me to slow my gait and enjoy the walk. Standing still, feet firmly planted in wet sand as the sea rushes in to wash over me is especially delightful for as the water recedes, it slowly erodes the platform on which I stand, reminding me of how impermanent everything is.
Almost every day, I have taken some time to examine and collect seashells. I like picking them up to admire their colors before running my fingers over their various textures.
Some shells I keep, others I show to whoever happens to be sharing my walk before I let them fall back to the sand. On any such walk I would find uniform shells, exceedingly smooth, startlingly white and available by the handful.
I'm always surprised, however, by the ones that find their way into my pockets. They are decidedly different from each other, suggesting to me that I don't have a set criteria.
On New Year's Eve I took one such walk. I bent and picked, bent and picked my way down the coastline until I found myself standing a fair ways down from where I started holding this shell in my hand...
I turned it over curiously. As always, it was different than any of the others I had collected. It was far from uniform in shape. I guess some might even call it broken, yet it was also totally perfect for whatever calm seas and stormy weather caused it to wash up on shore.
I didn't stop to look for the missing pieces...didn't ponder why it doesn't look like the others. Rather I palmed it, admired the gleaming innards, stroked it's ridged exterior, ran my thumb along the jagged edges then placed it in my pocket. In that moment I was blessed with the knowledge that I have found a handful of friends who do the same with me.
As I moved farther down the beach I tilted my head toward the darkening sky and opened my heart to everything the universe held in her open hand.
On New Year's Eve I took one such walk. I bent and picked, bent and picked my way down the coastline until I found myself standing a fair ways down from where I started holding this shell in my hand...
I turned it over curiously. As always, it was different than any of the others I had collected. It was far from uniform in shape. I guess some might even call it broken, yet it was also totally perfect for whatever calm seas and stormy weather caused it to wash up on shore.
I didn't stop to look for the missing pieces...didn't ponder why it doesn't look like the others. Rather I palmed it, admired the gleaming innards, stroked it's ridged exterior, ran my thumb along the jagged edges then placed it in my pocket. In that moment I was blessed with the knowledge that I have found a handful of friends who do the same with me.
As I moved farther down the beach I tilted my head toward the darkening sky and opened my heart to everything the universe held in her open hand.
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