Each Shell is a Memory

Sarah and I went for a walk early that morning, but instead of taking an old sea-salt rusty bucket for our shells, Sarah insisted on Cattie McCormick’s beautiful basket.  “But Sarah,” I protested.  “There’s no telling how expensive that beautiful basket is?  I bet…”  Cattie interrupted, “Oh, take it.  Your walk with Sarah is worth far more than that old basket.”  When we returned our family was already up and playing on the beach, except for our daughter Jodie.  She was in deep thought having her God Time.  So, I just left the basket of shells and a few wild flowers we picked by the sea fence.  Glad I did, cause later Jodie, drawn to see beyond the natural, had composed a poem that began with, “Each shell is a memory…”“A memory?” I asked curiously.“Of course Daddy, “ Jodie answered.  “They once were homes for living creatures, but now the shell that remains is a memory of what was once life.  And the basket is like our hearts that keeps these shells… memories…”  Jodie’s poem touched me