#ThankfulThursday: Finding wonders
Human beings must always be on the watch for the coming of wonders. –E.B. White
Turban Snail shell in Goff Island Cove, Laguna Beach.
Seashells
Summer’s end: a meditation and celebration
The tides are shifting, and there are subtle changes in the slant of light that shines through the sycamore trees at dawn. Summer’s waning, and here we are again, drifting slowly into autumn.
In Southern California, the changes are more subtle. And yet every season brings ashore its own treasures. This is just one of the secrets I learned by reading Ann Morrow Lindberg’s beautiful book, Gift from the Sea.
I thumbed through my copy again last week…familiar passages, fresh insights. Like this one, which speaks to me of nature’s transitions, and to the more intimate changes in our own lives.
Perhaps this is the most important thing for me to take back from beach-living:
simply the memory that each cycle of the tide is valid;
each cycle of the wave is valid;
each cycle of a relationship is valid.
And my shells? I can sweep them all into my pocket.
They are only there to remind me that the sea recedes and returns eternally.
An early Christmas gift
On my way to Goff Island yesterday, I happened upon a family reunion. Tourists, probably, drinking in the winter sunshine after savoring a picnic lunch. The women wore modest clothes and hijabs, and the men wore ankle-length, cotton robes. While the younger children built sand castles, replete with fancy turrets, a teenaged boy –positioned at a distance from his group–dug through the sand, examining and discarding tiny seashell fragments.
I lifted my sunglasses, smiled and waved. They waved back, generous smiles spread across open faces.
I thought I’d read the tide tables right, but Nature keeps her own timetable, doesn’t she? The Island was mostly submerged, so the harbor seals hadn’t yet hauled themselves onto the rocks where they typically congregate.
The ocean heaved and frothed. Seaweed floated in swirling eddies. But while I sensed the seals’ presence, I didn’t see any bobbing heads.
However.
In the sheltered cove, where the turquoise waters deposit their treasures, I found a pearly white seashell–exquisitely shaped, perfectly whole.
I wandered toward the group of children, seashell cradled in my palm; and when I reached the spot where the older boy knelt, I slowly opened my hand.
I saw in his face a kindred soul, someone for whom simple things oftentimes bring about the greatest joy.
I spread my fingers wide, and the seashell spiraled downward. It landed gently in the boy’s lap, as if it were meant to be there, all along.
“Thank you,” he said softly, in beautifully accented English.
You’re so welcome, I thought, but I let my heart do the talking.
It was a quick exchange, no fanfare or fancy wrappings, but it felt to me like a Christmas blessing.