Last winter I found this shell on a beach in Lyme. And the shell found me. I can’t get a great image of it, but there ya’ go. It’s as if it doesn’t want the life sucked out of it so that I can tell this story. But I see this one everyday. TLD placed the shell on a stone by the back porch with some of her finds. When this shell and I met, for me it was as if life began. Again.
I wrestle with getting things right. The obligations. The responsibility. The obsession with editing out clutter so all that’s left is the elegance. It consumes me. More than it should. But I look at the shell every day, many times at that. I want what it has. And the harder I try, the further away it gets.
I’ve stared at this thing for hours. Days. It sits with such comfort. And doesn’t take a measure of things. It just is.