Susan LaffertyShell, found.
Tucked in a side pocket of an old backpack. From some forgotten trip.
Somewhere I walked on a beach. Gazed at the horizon.
Then looked down for treasure.
And there they were. Scattered on sand. Different shapes. Colors. Designs.
Intricate ridges. Swirls. Some perfect. Others, broken and jagged.
Each reminding me of something more.
This week I’ve walked on the soft, white sand of Pensacola Beach and stared out at the deep blue and aqua waters of the Gulf. I’ve relaxed, breathed in the ocean breezes. Watched sandpipers race the tide.
My first memory of feeling sand between my toes was a 1964 family vacation in Bali. We loaded up our 1958 Chevrolet station wagon in Surabaya early in the morning and drove across East Java to the ferry at Ketapang, just north of Banyuwangi.