So, we only got to our cabin an hour before sundown, and we only had one night there and really wished we could have had more. It was toward the north end of the island and away from the more crowded areas. The cabin they gave us was the one closest to the beach so you could see the ocean out the windows and fall asleep to its rumbles (after I pulled the fucking ticking clock off the wall, that is). And the beach, covered with piles of shells, just as I remembered when I was a teen, was beautifully silky white, gently duned, and unpopulated, the water shading light green to dark blue--heaven, pretty much.
I spend a fair amount of time in my dreams at night seeking good shelling beaches and shell combing--it's a motif of lively well-being for me--hunting and gathering at its most joyful. We shelled and shelled and shelled. We shelled until dark under a full moon and then again first thing in the morning, finding fighting conchs, lettered olives, apple murexes, baby tulips, augurs, tops, bubble shells, ceriths, moon snails, and lightning whelks aplenty--some Florida cones, baby horse conchs, and crowned conchs as well.
We found a grocery store with parrots out front for mererid, who was missing her Bean, to play with, browsed through teh cute lil shell shops during the heat of the day, and drove up to Captiva Island to see the pretty beaches up there.
We really wanted one more day there.
To be continued . . .