I have witnessed olive shell, starfish, and sea anenome days. Today was clear jellyfish day, with the small, diamond-bright blobs strewn like mirrors along the sand. Another was horseshoe crab day. The beach was a junkyard of their helmets, and I stooped to examine one still wet from the wave that had delivered it downside up. The creature—-part of whose scientific name is limulus, which aptly means “odd”—-was still alive, but barely. More spider than crab, it weakly waved an appendage or two from the jumble of legs at its center, and I turned it over out of respect for its being and its dying..
One day was baby butterfly day. I have no idea what these tiny hinged shells the size of my fingernail are actually called, but when I saw them scattered like petals, I smiled to think no one else on the beach was taking note. Like miniature fritillaries, they were painted yellow, tan, pink, almond; some were even striped. What kind of world is this that a shell is a flower is a butterfly? Do I catch the Creator’s eye when I say that word of recognition? Ahh!
Photo credit-Wayne Rhodes