shelling

shelling

pale peach blending to rose

a delicate lavender

brilliant burnt orange

dark pink

just a touch of canary yellow –

the bits of shell we found on the beach

are all the colors of the rainbow

there are whole ones too --

miniature conch shapes

(some speckled brown and white

others a tawny orange gold)

and snails (tiny black and white ones

and big sworly ones the size of a baby’s fist)

lots of Mexican hats

and those elongated white curls

the beaches here are mostly

fine white sand (all the shells having been

ground up in the surf!)

but Sandy Spit is a tiny paradise

complete with beach and palm tree

rocky ledges form its windward shore

while grainy sand piles up high on the lee side

hiding dozens of the sea’s small treasures

we swam ashore in azure waters

and walked the island,

waves crashing loudly against the rocks

and gulls crying overhead

and a Caribbean beat drifting faintly

from the radio on a boat nearby

we combed the shoreline

bending to rake slow fingers through the sand

or brush aside bits of discarded seaweed

wading along the rocky ledges

to spot what the sea left behind

at one windward corner

was a backwash pool behind the rocks

where the water was crystal clear

sparkling over smooth black and white stones

a bit of movement caught my eye

and reaching down

my hand found a pinkish brown snail

delicate and whole

with tiny baby teeth across its mouth

(to protect the creature who once lived inside)

I love shelling

(and this was the best yet!)

my mind goes free

it gives me such joy

I am at peace

sunday 15 may

the day of Pentecost
Sandy Spit, Jost van Dyke