shells

Michelle Walker

Basic Writing

A search for shells

 

I step in the foam and my feet burn with the cold. As the rough waters laps against them, they turn bright red until they tingle and fizzle out numb with cold. I cannot feel them anymore. The burning is now in my legs where I can still remember what temperature and cold means. My feet have now have forgotten cold, they are simply dead weight. Waves and breakers close in. At the edge to the sea, the waves are fast and large. Here the waves come rapidly and the sand keeps swirling in the foam making the water murky. The waves tug around my feet pulling the sand out from under me, tipping my balance. The shells are visible only for an instant before the waves drag them away. I learn fast to keep an eye on the sea as it comes towards me. The size of the swells is always changing. Without watchfulness, the waves would easily go far above my waist, when only moments before the water merely lapped around my feet. Here at the edge of the sea, it is risky and the hunt for shells is often unfruitful. I know where to look for shells. Away from where the shells hide in the foamy sand and the breakers. There is always a place that is not truly part of the sea and is not quite part of the river. it is full of rocks and shells caught and trapped between tides. Here the waters are clearer. The shells are more visible. Trapped in pools between large rocks, shells nestle closely together with agates and river stones. Shining in the rivers light the shells and stones glitter like gems. Here is where the water from the river meets the sea. The current only swirls, it does not rise, fall, and change rapidly as the waves on the shore do. This is where I hunt for shells.