There’s a method, process, a right way to find sea glass.
It involves searching a path where the sea has deposited the day’s detritus.
Slowly, slowly, allowing the eye to see a surface unfamiliar.
There’s one. Ah. Another.
The trick is, at the end of the trail, to pivot.
Retrace your steps.
That same path has different riches with the new perspective.
What the cloud reflected on the way out may not reveal itself upon the return.
Or the reverse.
Often, the bounty is greater after the swivel.
Maybe because of the sky or sun or refraction of the atmosphere.
Or because, the second time around, there’s a relaxation, a grooving into, a rhythm of space and time and sand and sky.
Those tiny green and brown and white visitors upon the surface reveal themselves like trust opens a confidence.
Like they know you’re there to unfold, release, sink into the moment.
As if God or Power or Conciousness is just there waiting to be visited.