Naiad 1975 - Lake-Sumter Community College

142
THE WHITE SHELL
I stood on the empty shore watching the sun rise over the waves. The
morning air was cool; I pulled my coat closer and began to walk. As I scanned the
sand, a tiny shell caught my eye. I picked it up carefully, not wanting to damage
the treasure I had found. Examining it closer, I discovered it to be pure white in
color and perfect in shape. I held it almost reverently, amazed at its small, yet
lovely form. I thought aloud, "How could such a delicate thing survive the
raging waves that placed it here?"
For many hours I walked the beach, stopping often to gather stones and
shell s that appealed to me. Some were large with brilliant colors; others broken
and beaten by the tides.
The sun was in mid sky when I realized the weariness in my legs; I started
back. The walking was not so easy, bringing notice to the extra weight from my
bulging pockets. Knowing there was a long way to go before dark, I began to drop
my lovely collection to ease the heaviness I was feeling. The shining beauties
seemed so unimportant now. As my fingers reached deep to rid myself of the
la st, I found only the tiny, white and still perfect shell. I held it to my eyes and
marveled at its elegance. Again, a reverence fi lled my touch.
The beach was no longer deserted, and I was aware of the young people
playing and many of the old ones wading cautiously in the surf; one old man sat
alone. Nearing him, I noticed his tattered clothes, his stubbled chin and wrinkled
eyes. He sat with treasures that he, too, had amassed. They looked much
like the ones I had left behind. I squatted beside him and smiled. "Hello", I said.
He muttered something I co uld not discern. There was silence as he touched and
turned the items in the sand. It occurred to me that perhaps the tiny prize I had
saved would bring a s.mile to this tired and weathered face . "Here," I said, "I
fo und this this morning." It is not very big and has no distinct color, but it is truly
lovely in its flawless &-tate." He took the shell, inspected it, and with a smile said,
"Thank you, child." We talked no more, and I went on my way.
As I look back on that day, it is clear that the journey of life is much the
same. The once-valued collection became but a burden, as worthless to the
purpose of living as are the perverted concepts of materia'r'wealth and monetary
satisfaction. Yet, the tiny white shell, like a symbol of love, was the fu lfi llment of
li fe's intention.
Dianne Taylor