When we lived in America, he was a classic rock hound. It didn't matter where we were, he was always scanning the ground for any rock that might stand out among the others. He was looking for the peculiar.
In Haiti, he has a new passion. He will stand out on the stormy days in contrast against the shoreline, scanning the ground for the new treasure, of greater worth than gold in his eyes... yes, the ever elusive seashell. The angry ocean churns up her bottom and spits them up on the rocks by the dozens, and when the water recedes, there is my boy, ready to commence the search.
He has a whole tupperware container full of them, and I must admit they are beautiful. He's even got his sister and some of their Haitian friends interested in the hunt.
I picked out one that was original, and I've strung it around my neck.
It reminds me. Like these beautiful shells hidden among the garbage and debris, we're all just diamonds in the rough. Treasure in the making, even though right now we may be all kinds of peculiar.