Growing up, I spent a lot of time at my nan's house in Sydney. She lived right on the beach at Curl Curl. The ocean and the surf were a part of our everyday. We learnt to read the surf, when it was safe, when it was dangerous. We'd head 'out the back' on our boards when the surf was up. We played footy on the sand. We used to watch the big tankers making their way to and from Sydney Harbour. It was indeed a fortunate part of life.
My nan had some cowrie shells on one of her coffee tables and they were one of my favourite things to look at when I visited. 'Listen', she'd say, 'put it to your ear, you can hear the ocean...' Now, as a youngster, I was never sure if I was hearing the ocean through the underside of the shell, or just the actual ocean, just there, beyond the front patio (as they were called back then).
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| Listen... |
In recent years, I've found myself making a bit of a collection of cowrie shells as I make my way around markets and shops of little knick knacks. These days, I live in Brisbane, quite a distance from any ocean but when I listen I can hear the ocean...or maybe that's my nan.
*This pic was taken when I was doing a little housework today: as every writer knows, the house must be spic and span before any writing can really happen...hehe (^.-)/*
[Camera : iPhone 4S, 4.58pm]
