By Barbara Robinson

The shell is a forsaken home left abandoned on a sandy beach. It may someday attract another resident, but it is beautiful on its own.

I wonder at the shells I live in and have lived in. Will they someday attract another dweller? Will they seem as elegant as this shell?

No, I doubt it for time will be unkind to my old shells and wear them away leaving only dust, but maybe in those weathered footprints a way is made for someone or something new.

As I age, I look for the protection of a shell, a quiet place where I can go and remain untouched by time.

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