We go to the edge of the sea dressed in warm, heavy sweaters with treasures collected from lifetimes by the shore. Trophies of time well-spent worn loosely around our necks and tied carefully to our wrists. Reminders of days spent wisely at the beach and creek surrounded by lifelong friends and heated by the warmth of the setting sun.
Oh how dearly we cling to the hours when the end of the day draws near. Every single minute becomes precious.
We lived in the shadow of the fear that this day might be our last together and contemplate the idea that any moment must not be wasted; that there be no chances not taken. If only we could know all things then maybe our minds could finally meet.
That noise in the seashell haunts me today and brings me right back to the sea-cave where we stood peacefully listening to the sound of our souls in the presence of God. The cool water lapping at our bare feet and the soles and toes sinking slowly into the wet sand while the glowing sun warmed our shoulders and backs.
The salt water stiffened the fibers of my sweater while I held the shell close to my ear and listen to the life of the sea within it. I held an eternity in the palm of my hand and the unfading memory persists even after all these lost decades.