I did not find them by the sea but in a forest deep. They sat path-side.
A fossilized shell, wave-smooth, with a wooden wayfarer having lost all but itself. As one, they appeared a fish, head of stone, body and tail of crêpe myrtle.
On that day, they left one path for another. Who knows the how and why of leaving and joining. We just go along. Until we don’t.
Waves of endurance, eons for the shell. Sometimes, I cradle my thumb on its soft underside. Such a sense of forever.
Would that I were a shell, hardened to all that does not matter while cradling what does, a fallen myrtle, life-splintered, a rag of bark remaining.
To deepen with the years as ripples. Like a rock.
Aim for Even posts offer equanimity a dose at a time. No day or dose is ever the same, even if the aim is. You may read about the origins of Aim for Even here or on this site’s About page.
Aim For Even: The Daily Dose 
Beautifully poetic words!
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I remember my Great Aunt Lizzie who lived alone and was fascinated with seemingly random things, she asked me once about these shells she’d found in the countryside, saying they were oysters. “Such a sense of forever” she might have said. How did the sea come into the land, I think it was foundation for a path, she lived near the sea, and the men just shovelled the hard material from the truck on to the land, then the gravel for the path and that was it – if a logical answer was required…
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“…if a logical answer was required.” For me, less and less. I’ll stay with a sense of things. As always, thank you, Tiramit.
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