Reading Seashells

By Edmée Pardo

I walk beside the sea, along an orange shore that marks the boundary between water and desert. There is barely room for two people to pass between the sand banks eroded by the tides and waves. Nature is fully present on this immense beach, free of lounge chairs, hotels, and vendors. I marvel at the breadth of the landscape, the towering cardón cacti providing the only touch of green; I am drawn to the abundance of shells piled upon one another. Seen from above, they look like lines inscribed in the sand: a white streak, a pink edge, a curve the foam uncovers and conceals again. I crouch to look at them closely and feel them in my hands: in their textures I find a design of spirals, folds, and lips. Something is written here, I think, and I set out to discover the language marine nature has written into these beautiful, fragile bodies.