We went to the beach Saturday night to catch the sunset. And to do a little playing when things weren't so damn hot.
It was a lovely evening. Families, couples, friends. All out enjoying the gift Mother Nature gave to our little corner of the world.
Spectacular sunset. See...
There were the obligatory tourists feeding the seagulls. Who swarmed around like the moochers they are.
Will had a grand time. He really likes the beach -- when I put on his sandals, he does a little happy dance, as he knows where we're headed. We crashed into waves and sat on the water's edge and walked. And walked. And then walked some more.
I also did a bit of shelling -- found the usual suspects -- white half shells. Pretty. But ubiquitous.
But then I came across a beautiful horn-shaped whole shell. Shades of grey and beige. Stunning. It was pretty far up on the beach, so I shook it a bit and took it down to the water to make sure that it wasn't a "live" one. Nothing. Into the shell bag it went.
Yesterday, as I was admiring my treasures gathered the night before, I was looking at my piece d' resistance. All at once, I see a little thing poke up out of the hole in the top. Mr. Creature was indeed at home. And probably not happy. I squeeled. Partly from surprise and partly from the realization that I'd altered the balance of nature and disrupted this guy's happy home.
I took the shell outside, hoping that Mr. Creature would feel comfortable coming on out. But he didn't. And today, the shell is still and silent. I feel awful. So much so that when the mister volunteered to send the black snake that lives up under our house to meet his maker, I told him not to. For me, who hates snakes with a passion usually reserved for criminals and rival sports teams, this was a biggie. I just figured I needed to at least make an effort to right the framework of the universe that I'd disrupted with my shell acquisition.
And life. Goes on.