Cowries

On long walks along clean, untouched beaches, I started finding cowrie shells. Most days. Small, glossy, perfect.

After a few days it became a pattern. And once it became a pattern, it became a story: I’ll need to find one every day.

That’s when it shifted. What started as noticing turned into searching. Head down, scanning, walking the right zones. The beach narrowed to a strip of sand I could control. I stopped seeing the rest: the waves, the dolphins, the sea eagles.

Efficient. Focused. And slightly tense.

The irony was obvious. Before I started hunting for cowries, they simply appeared. Not because there were more of them, but because finding one was not yet the point.