"Ouch," I murmur before looking down at my right pinky toe. I dig my grubby pointer finger under the damp sand and am rewarded with a scallop-shaped shell. It's white with a pink hue. A vein of purple runs a crescent moonline along its underbelly. Its left side is chipped and has a small, sharp edge. I rub my thumb pad along it. "So you're what's cut me, huh? Not much to complain about, are you? Still, I guess you have some beauty to admire, if not your own kind of strength as well."

I swing my arm backwards and then shoot the shell over my head and into the waves.

I bend over to examine my toe and wiggle it within my fingers. "I guess I better wash you up in the water. Last thing I need now is an infected toe."

I take a deep breath and push myself off the sand and onto my feet. Dusting off, I pat myself down removing various pockets of sand from my many crevices. "Stuff just gets right into all kinds of places it doesn't belong."

As I approach the surf and skirt the edge, the cool water rushes over my feet and I sigh.

"Strange," I think to myself. "It's always alive."

It's as if a giant wave machine, somewhere, keeps the waves rolling in, never ceasing, never slowing though sometimes increasing.

"That old 'if a butterfly flaps its wings on the other side of the world' phenomenon, I guess," I think to myself.

The world truly is a wonder when we stop to marvel it.