So it was with some delight that while exploring around our little fishing harbor and its environs I came upon an island that was the stuff dreams are made of: pine-covered trails, moss dripping from tree branches, ocean waves crashing on the shore. Yikes.
But it was the beach that I put into that was the killer - an entire beach of crushed shells. I scooped up buckets.
I, of course, have them to this day. They still brighten my mood. Crushed shells. Go figure.
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