Washed up upon the sandy shore the myriad shells at rest at last the
mighty sea had flung them there and we two picked our careful way
among them to pick out treasures to adorn our homes. Joan, auburn
head bent over in deep study, extracted a shell of great beauty from
the wet and windswept beach. It shone with iridescent light as she
beheld it. When we reached home it was the only one she wished to
keep, the rest she gave to me for my work . Just like her.
When she died I took this small perfect shell. I shall always be
reminded of Joan's great gift of observation which singled out from
the thousands of lesser shells this one perfect loveliness. And in a
way I think that God took Joan into his perfect glory - picking this
often overlooked, quiet beauty, from his so crowded world.