Here on the Atlantic side of the Outer Banks of North Carolina, the shells are rarely in one piece. The winds and tides break them up and the beach is littered with the remnants.
As disappointing as it might seem to not see fantastic, whole shells, there’s a whole different thing to look at here: weathered shells.
Some of them are so smooth, they look more like lacquered wood than seashells. Others look like fragments of ancient tablets, the hieroglyphics too washed out to read.
It is the patterns I love, how many different ones there are from maybe a dozen different types of shells. Colors, shapes, and patterns are each unique, and each a beautiful treasure if you look closely enough.
I have weathered many different storms and I know who I am and my friends know who I really am.
Delta Goodrem
Lovely.
A lovely metaphor for all who have endured.