My mother, Mozelle, taught me the art of walking the beach, tutoring me on how to scan this world visually: how to gaze at the sand for shells, driftwood or pieces of rusted iron from a ship of some sort; how to catch a glimpse of the horizon and turn a downward glance to watch a wave roll back out; how to study the wet sand revealed just in time to catch a perfect sand dollar, angel wing or Scotch bonnet. Mozelle, the consummate beach walker, would reach down and gently pick up this gift from the gulf waters, moving the tips of her fingers across the smooth surface, gathering strength from and finding solace in her surroundings.
I love getting to know more about you Kay.