Heart Cockle

“Heart Cockle” Simple and plain to the human eye and tainted with splotches of a burnt orange, the shell is a living relic of its past, its prior experience. The heart cockle is silent; it dares not blurt to the world what it knows, what it has seen, or what it feels. For lying in is natural position, the heart cockle has a pair of overly bright, stinging magenta ovals. Ovals to be eyes, as eyes to the soul, with a gaze of millions more surveillance devices. They were, a window into the cockle. When it rests on its front, exposing its back to the world, the heart cockle expresses a plethora of hues. A gradient of a deep orange contemplates a deep, dark past of secrets, mysteries, the unknown. But the fading, overshadowed light peach offers luminosity to a new beginning and a new path untouched, unexplored. The simple glide of a fingernail across the cockle reveals a euphonic rhythm, similar to the tympanic beat of a conga drum, a beat to the world, a rhythm to its soul. All but the world is a muse of the cockle; the cockle is a metronome, overseeing the isochronal vibrations of life. Leaning on its side, the heart cockle only seems to resemble the sun’s half at the horizon, as if concealing itself and withholding all importance. Mysterious and unknown, the cockle keeps it a secret- whether the sun is rising or setting. It tapers to a close, indicating that all happiness, sadness, and moments in life reach their close- their end. The cockle’s subtle musty smell does no help; it only adds to the mystery of the one holding it. With a quick sniff, the temporary owner apprehends the shell to be store bought, an accident on the sandy beaches. A deep inhale discloses an ancient, stale aroma, developed what seems to be epochs ago. Only the original owner would know: what past did this simple shell contain? Perhaps one will never know, until then, the cockle lies flat; its weary eyes staring back at the world, scrutinizing all through its natural window.