A friend of mine tells me he likes picking up broken seashells more than whole shells. He is a preacher so maybe it's a manifestation of some quirky worldview. And maybe not. He says he just finds the broken shapes more interesting, more fascinating, more captivating.
I don't generally share my friend's enthusiasm for broken shells, but every once in a while I spy a particularly interesting one. A while ago I came across a large horse conch that had been beaten and battered by the surf. Most of the outer shell was broken away, exposing the intricate, spiral swirls down the center. I picked it up, and it rests on the table on my screened in porch. I like it, but I'd like an unbroken horse conch even more.
This month's Ocracoke Newsletter tells about island customs relating to death & dying. You can read the newsletter here.
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On a recent visit to Ocracoke, I, too, found myself drawn to the broken shells. I'm currently in the process of writing a screenplay about a little girl who collects broken shells. Thanks to Ocracoke for inspiring this story@
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