Sea glass. Today I hold a meager collection, fitting into two ounces of crystal glass my mother used to serve Bailey’s Irish Cream. The tiny assortment mesmerizes me, both in the meditative gathering along the beach, as well as here in captivity, nestled amidst my simple treasures.
Pieces of glass tossed into the sea. Like memories some sink to the depths of unknowing – others magically appear on the desolate beach – glimmering – waiting to be collected – taken home and treasured as something new.
Tiny bits of amber, azure, emerald and smoky white. From where did they tumble? A humble beginning? Beer bottle in the hand of a local drunken boatman? Something more grand? The carrier of passionate script from a star-crossed lover? Ancient treasure tossing in the surf for centuries?
How began the journey to now? The essential breaking against an exotic piece of ebony coral? A fate more ordinary perhaps? Colliding with the hulk of a massive container ship or the speeding prop of a passing pleasure boat?
What seems most certain is no one noticed when the change began. Or how long the agitation cycle has spun to achieve these smooth edges. One might consider this not even a point worth pondering…
Still…Can one measure the length of metamorphosis from dangerous garbage on the beach into a treasure to collect? Oh I wonder…
Update: Pop on over to the Mind Sieve and read her take on Sea Glass - & No... we didn't plan this.
'beachcomber' © lucy 1.24.10