Here's some pics from the couple of days I stayed on Sanibel Island last week, collecting shells like a mad shell collecting thing:

Morning light on the beach. Why Sanibel Island is a beachcomber's paradise.

I got up before dawn--a feat that is astonishing to those who know my not-a-morning-person essence--carrying a little flash light to hunt my intrepid prey under the cover of nightfall. My prey being empty shells--I don't like taking the live ones, even though that's what real collectors go for.

White shores are calling. Two days were not enough.

And all will turn/To silver glass/A light on the water . . .

Why do the white gulls call? Well, sandpiper's really--they prefer text messaging.
Morning light on the beach. Why Sanibel Island is a beachcomber's paradise.
I got up before dawn--a feat that is astonishing to those who know my not-a-morning-person essence--carrying a little flash light to hunt my intrepid prey under the cover of nightfall. My prey being empty shells--I don't like taking the live ones, even though that's what real collectors go for.
White shores are calling. Two days were not enough.
And all will turn/To silver glass/A light on the water . . .
Why do the white gulls call? Well, sandpiper's really--they prefer text messaging.
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