in search of an icon

I think way too much about signs & symbols. Icons of various sorts, too. Not in the religious sense, but with some sort of residual childhood belief that everything means something — doesn't it?? And that hidden messages lie everywhere.

Like those hidden pictures in Highlights magazine — remember those??

I don't always listen to signs and messages (and faces made of seashells and seaweed), but I do derive satisfaction from this grown-up (never!!) version of hide-and-seek.

So imagine my pleasure at heading off on a walk to First Beach — Easton's Beach, as it's more properly known — in search of an icon to represent myself here in this context. It's rather like those good ole game pieces in Monopoly: the shoe, the car, the hat. What do I want to be as I roll the dice and march around the real-life board passing railroad after railroad and hoping to purchase just the right amount of real estate with getting into mortgage difficulty all the while hoping never ever to land in jail? Who am I??

I settled on the seagull. It/she simply suits me — and she's alive, unlike the others. That's key. But nothing's set in stone here, or even in sand. The beach guy, the jolly tree trunk and the babbling clamshell all spoke to me. Especially the clamshell ...