The sea pronounces something, over and over, in a hoarse whisper; I cannot quite make it out. ~Annie Dillard

When I lived on the coast in Texas, a couple of lifetimes ago, I would go to the beach in the winter and gather seashells; all kinds of amazing designs and colors and shapes.

People gather to the beach in the summer to bask in the sun and frolic in the surf. I would wait. I’d make my way to the beach in the dead of winter, when it was solitary, and a bit peaceful. The wind blows and the air sometimes cuts right through you. But you feel aware; alive.

The shells gather there then, too. Cast off by their previous inhabitants, they find their way to shallow waters where the tide drops them off in the sand. Waiting to be found.

Photo Credit: US National Archives