Saltwater shells Mandy Willis

Mandy Willis

Saltwater Shells

Wandering at Pevensey I noticed scattered mussel shells flattened, made smooth by weather and sea. I picked them up one by one as my mind meandered, brimming. The nestled grey shells, with their blue arcs rippled in symmetry. Their luminescent pearly glimmers reminiscent of promise within.

A few I held tight until they grew warm, so I kept them. I touch them often when feelings storm. Their solid presence soothes. A talisman between past, horizons and me.

They once thrived in the saltwater that makes us, that constitutes our tears. Clinging resolutely to rocks as they were beaten by current and flood. Resilient in their clustered groups. Now crystallised, a condensed ethereal vibration of life and its gyration.

They hold echoes of waves and marching feet. Their marbled gloss and shimmering depth glimpses, subliminal murmurs. Proof that as the future tosses all about in its swell, slowly rock, shell and sand evolve. I’m cocooned in the present, merely a miniscule grain holding tight to my shell.