I recognised the sound of the sea in the shell.

Held to my ear I could hear it’s faint echo.

Memory of the ocean held in its form:

the sound of movement far away,

the echo of a wrinkle on the surface

of a constantly moving, seething entity.

Could gravity hold it in place, something so obviously bound,

molecule to molecule, vibration to vibration?

What would happen?

Is the moon only there to keep the ocean moving,

surging in place?

                                                                                If it went away would the water

                                                                               still have reason to keep surging?

                                                                               Wonder!

         I know the sea in the shell.

            I have been there and seen there,

                               Felt it in many seasons: warm and wet, forceful and cold…

            Felt against my body surging-

pulling, pushing, gently, forcefully…

closing in. opening out,

Adapting its form to all before it;

the ocean, surging, moving, always.

Adapting the form of that which it washes against,

taking or giving back.

Life of the sea-

Amazingly holding the health of the planet in tis hands.

Moving always moving.

I can hold you in my being

as sound,

as memory, as sensation of encounter.

Inside a shell,

in the whisper of leaves

brushing against each other in the breeze,

a song is sung.

Life mimicking life, I hear you in the shell.

Song sung.

The shell in my hand (April 7, 2016) ©Sandy Skinner

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