The abalone shell

An abalone shell appeared on my kitchen window sill. Mum said, ‘I’ve washed it. I knew you’d like it.’

The colour attracted me at first. But as I settled in to drawing it, my attention went to the markings . Some are close together, others are on their own. Patterns. Like a language of its very own.

I followed the lines and thought of songlines and the insect tracks you find in the sand.

I wondered too about this abalone clinging to a surface, breathing through the litte holes that form a ridge across the top, the respiratory holes. Breathing in and out, in and out under a starry sky.

A life formed. A life had.

Yes, I liked this abalone shell; for the opportunity to momentarily wonder about the life of another creature.


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