most beautiful creations.
Just like human beings, no two are alike.
They contain the mysteries of the deep
within their folds and crevices.
Often times I find their imperfections
are what appeals to me the most.
When displayed individually in a sculptural glass jar,
a sea star becomes a piece of art.
Bits of mother-of-pearl add textural contrast
to a smooth, milk glass bowl.
A grouping of some of my favorite shells
sits proudly atop the piano.
More sea-polished bits are collected in a wooden bowl
lined with mother-of-pearl.
Broken, fragmented shells rest proudly atop
a lacy plate. The shades of gray remind me
of overcast days at the beach.
Even the lampshade joins the party.
Unlike Anne Morrow Lindberg, I have not had the
luxury of spending solitary time
on a sea island gathering my own shells
as the tides roll in and out.
These have been gleaned from the collection of others
(family and friends), and thus bring their
stories into my home.
In this case, each shell is literally a gift.
They serve as reminders of those gone before,
both human and crustacean.
They help me stay connected to the ebb and flow,
the rhythms of communion and solitude,
which punctuate my life.
And lastly they keep me connected to the
humble beauty of nature's treasures.
Until next time...