Carry the Sea

   The waves crash upon the white sand, calling “hush” to the few who still watch the ocean.   A mother, her daughter, and a handful of birds are all who stay; feeling indigenous enough to bear the cold sea breeze to watch the sun shift her colors. All an elaborate dance to call the moon to stage with his deep blues and purples. Slowly, the sun sets. The birds take their cue to leave so the sun can watch the girl. She’s holding a shell in her hands. Small and white at first glance, but to the daughter, it’s full of the pinks and purples and yellows of her favorite sky.

   “Mommy,” she wonders aloud, “how do they get so many colors? The seashells, I mean…”

A bit of thinking on the mother’s part as the waves  continue their lullaby.

   “Well, honey,” her mother starts, “I think it goes a little like this.”

   She sits up from their sandy blanket and pulls a corner aside. The young daughter leans forward in anticipation of the answer.  The woman dips her fingers into the cool, gritty sand.

   “All shells start out white, like this.” She raises her cupped hands to her daughter; she cups her hands in turn to catch the falling granules. They are shining like the stars she’s waiting for. “And someone has to make the shells, right?”

   The daughter nods eagerly.

   “Someone very special…,” she muses, trying to coax out a guess.

   “A fairy! Mermaid!” The child’s eyes are bright with imaginings.

   “…a goddess,” her mother grins. “Big and beautiful like the sun…” She gazes out toward the sea as if to watch her story unfold.

   “She strolls along the beach, watching over the ocean and the sky. One day she thought, ‘How beautiful this is. I want to carry this place with me always.’ But she couldn’t easily carry the sand or the water with her, and how could she capture the salty breeze off the ocean, or the colors of the sky?’ The beautiful goddess in her billowing dress figured maybe that’s what makes her Earth so special.” The mother looks down at her daughter and sees that she has her eyes closed tight and mouth scrunched up, trying to imagine such a divine essence. Her mother takes a gentle hold of the girl’s check and continues, “Just like my little girl!”

   The daughter giggles and says, “Keep going with the story!”

   “‘I know!’ said the goddess. ‘I shall create something new! Something just as precious as the moon and the stars, but able to be held and treasured.’ She took a handful of sand and held it to her chest. Then, she told the sands a secret so important that the grains wouldn't pull apart. She told the wind to howl and carve the rise and fall of salty waves into the bright, new glass she named a shell. 
   "But the shell was still missing something. Although waving like the ocean and gritty like the sand, it still wanted for more. The goddess looked to the sky and found her answer. The setting sun reflected its rays along the water, and cast layers of colors into the darkening sky. She held the shell high to the sun and coaxed the light to stain the glass with its display.
   "The goddess admired her new creation with such joy. She made more and more seashells as the sun set, each with a different sky called to stain it."
   "That's how they're made? With sunlight?" asks the daughter.
   Her mother lies back down on the blanket and sighs, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe." They listen to the waves crash for a moment more. The daughter stares at the shell in her hands, the breeze lifting her hair from her face.  
   "What was the secret?"
   "Hm..."She bounces her foot over a knee and says slyly, "When you put a shell to your ear, maybe its trying to tell you, but it's not allowed to share the secret."
   They pack up and head home, carrying the ocean with them.