Happy Sandy Hand

The shells here on the Gulf Coast never cease to amaze. I wish I could predict the days when they seem to wash up, or when the itty bitty micro shells are everywhere, but I can’t. Ok, I guess it has to do with storms and swells. After they pass through, the shells tend to pile up. Like little mini snowdrifts. Especially in the winter.

All I can predict is this: if you go to a beach, you will start walking, zone out, feel a little sort of beachcombing fully present zen nostalgia, and eventually stumble on on a few. Or a pile. Or some cute itty bits. Like I did today while being Levi’s “Beach Horse”, therefore walking around on hands and knees, and laughing a ton with my nose a foot from the ground.

Those little suckers were everywhere. (I think that also counted as a workout too.)

Most of the time I’ll just line them up for a happy sandy hand pic, then leave a pile or throw them back in the ocean. If one strikes a chord with me (yes, you can get emotionally attached to shell, or a feeling/the moment when finding one) I’ll keep it.

Either way, I love the metaphors they represent, their hues and patterns, the sentiment they conjure up (hence why I have a mason jar full of special ones on my desk) and just how they are a constant reminder of how beauty is there when you look for it, and it comes in all shapes and sizes.

Which explains why I just really really really love taking pics like this to admire all of the above.

There are dozens more.

I could do a coffee table book.

Yay shells. Actually, yay nature. You win. You always do.

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