I came upon a large conch shell as I walked along the shore at sunset.
The gentle waves lapped at the edges of the wonderous pink and white shape,
rolling and pushing at this marvelous crustaceous covering,
foamy bubbles washing in and out of the mysterious opening.
I pondered, in my small way, what miracle had taken place
to mold and shape this spectacular beauty.
And why is it here, washed up on this lonely shore.
Is it because it has outlived its usefulness?
Is this out of the way beach its final resting place,
to become dried by the blazing sun that would soak up it's brilliant, wet shine
and leave it dull and uninteresting,
with no one to give it a glance as they walked by?
Or could it have been pushed here accidentally in the fury of a passing storm,
by waves that tossed it over and over in the silt of the ocean bottom
until it settled finally here at my feet.
And then I saw a rising, sparkly wave, collared in white foam,
reach greedily for the large shell and roll it easily back into the blue-green water.
The shell tossed and turned in the wave,
pulled by the tide,
sucked into the sand.
And after a short time,
it disappeared into the mysterious depths of the sea.
Was it still needed somewhere, I wondered?
A shelter for a delicate sea creature?
Was it perhaps a mermaid's home?