This close to Winter Solstice, the waves are quieter and cold, bearing the sting of ice and the warning that the air might chill lungs. Walking along the shore line, where the tips of the waves touch the sand and have marked it with flotsam, debris,
memories and pieces of glass, I shiver. The shawl isn't enough.
Above me, the last of the silver fish come in to land with the last batches of oysters before the villages bed down for the winter. Winter's oyster stew warms everyone's
heart and soul. I remember mother telling me about Josh's recipe and how he won
her heart over.
Behind me, Si carries Heart and wonders if I am in one of my moods again. I see it on her face. This close to Winter Solstice, the sky darkens quickly as well, and as
much as Lambs Quarters charms the visitors, it does have a less pleasant side
I bend down, running my fingers through the sea glass. Blue, green, the occasional blue, and the rare red. All smoothed down by time. Mother told me of a tree, a wishing tree, where they hang glass shards and pieces as wishes. I haven't seen it yet.
A heart-shaped clear piece nestles beside sea weed and shells from the sea and from the restaurants. They all form part of the beach landscape. I pick it up and hold
it up to the sun. Even through the clouds, the light shines through and for a
moment, the sea glass shimmers. I place it inside my pocket and continues
combing the beach. I see a smaller shard, almost round like a pebble: emerald
green. Moistened by sea water, it gleams and seems to promise even more beauty. I hold it on my palm. Even discarded, it has a purpose.
This Winter Solstice, I will make gifts out of them. Next spring, I will see more sea