"She sells seashells by the sea shore."
This tongue-twisting line came to me as I recently walked the beach. At first I thought if I were She I would not want to profit monetarily from seashell sales. I would share not sell Earth's offerings. Yet I have not walked in her sandals.
Today I find myself curious as to the details of her days and the back story of this one line window into the life of She. Did this early female entrepreneur sell seashells to support young children at home or elderly parents for whom she cared? Was the money made used to buy bread or to keep a roof overhead ? Was the seashore her assembly line and seashells her means of pulling herself up by her sandals? Or was hers a gypsy, nomad's soul collecting the refuse of shell remains, garbage to the many yet treasures to her? Was she an early recycler who saw the beauty in that day's throw aways?
The seashore is now miles and hours away and I am not She. Yet I walk the seashore of my soul while offering words, words to unlock worlds, worlds forgotten and longing to be recalled and known.
In this way, She and I are kin calling those around to remember and see the beauty etched in simple things.
-Dawn, The Good News Muse 18 September 2012