shells

Now on the sand, one shell, one fragment of shell, opalescent and like silk in my hand, is enough. As children, we filled plastic buckets with ever more beautiful treasure. We counted and arranged and chose the most beautiful, agonizing about the unfair choice our parents demanded…only five. Yet on winter days, we came to know each one of the precious five intimately. As we had been, they had become siblings of summer.
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