Seashells are scattered throughout my house - a sight so common I don’t see them anymore. So I was surprised when I zeroed in recently on a tiny one atop my bathroom shelf - gobsmacked by the design intricacies of this wee treasure from the sea - like a miniature model for a much larger shell. In such a small size, I wondered at how it could contain all the same contours. I wish I could remember the beach where I found it.
I’m usually too lazy to qualify as a true beachcomber - preferring to float and swim in the waves or read on the beach. But my friend June was a pro. She introduced me to all sorts as we explored the beach near her home in Sydney. I recall one that looked like an elongated fingernail, the proper name being Solen Vaginoide.
Along the way I’ve come upon a couple of larger shells. A fan-shaped one, ridged on the outside with a smooth concave underside that I brought with me when I moved back from Sydney. It had been left in the apartment I rented and is perfect for holding my kitchen sponge and bringing back good memories.
The other bigger one is a conch shell I somehow acquired a long while ago. I must remember to listen to it when the underlying anxiety of the news starts ringing in my ears like a bad case of tinnitus. I’ll let the echo of the sea transport me to the shore.
I’m Paula Garrett and that’s my perspective.
