It’s not a shrine.
I don’t know why anyone thinks it is.
I finally collected all the shoe boxes and beach bags full of sea shells,
Relics of trips to the ocean,
arranging them, decoratively on a small antique table.
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
But I don’t pray to the shells.
I may pray nearby,
Because I can still smell the sea on them,
When I close my eyes I’m there,
The wind blowing off the water,
The waves exhaling their glory at my feet.
The seagulls, the sunsets.
I may get lost in revelry,
That looks like a trance.
But it’s only dreaming.
I don’t have a cute table of sea shells like that seen in Rochelle -Wisoff Fields photo prompt. But I do have boxes of sea shells collected from each trip we manage to make to visit the Jersey shore. I always have plans for them, still do but they have never made it out of the closet. Once in a while I look through them and my appreciation for my picks reignites both my crafty ideas and the desire to hop on a plane and go straight to the water.
Here’s hoping you know the joy of walking along a beach, contemplating life, death, dinner!
Clare Graith 