A Duet in the Shell

Carrying my mangrove pod like a hiking staff, I followed the sun-dappled trail to a quiet cypress picnic bench overlooking the water. Resting right on the weathered gray plank was a thick lightning whelk shell, pearly white and dusted with pale river sand. I leaned my stick securely against the table leg, stepped in close, and used both hands to roll the heavy shell onto its side so it wouldn't wobble. Leaning the side of my head against the smooth, peach-tinted opening, I hummed a low, steady note. The hollow spiral caught the sound immediately, humming right back like a tiny, gentle flute. It turns out river shells make remarkably patient duet partners.