The happy surfer studied today’s waves. He finished his warm-up stretches, fastened the long tether from his board around his right ankle, hefted the board under his right arm, and loped off toward the surf.
“Wasn’t that a great pair of arches?” comments the happy little clam.
“Wasn’t that uncomfortable when he walked all over you like that?” I ask.
“Nah. We’ve got very hard shells, and we live here in the semi-soft sand that gives under pressure,” he says.
“Ah, but the beak of a seagull is something else entirely,” states the big little happy little clam. “While it is our purpose in life to become food for others, nobody wants to achieve this purpose prematurely.
Amen to that, I thought.
“I wanna be chowder!” a happy little baby clam pipes up.
“Me too!” says the second.
“Me three,” says the third.
“Not me,” says the fourth. “I wanna get dug up by a surfer and tossed into the waves, whence I shall make my way to the briny, briny deep and become a giant clam with a pearl in it and… and…”
“Dream on,” scoffs the adolescent little clam. “That’s like a kid in the ghetto wanting to grow up to be a professional basketball player. Ha ha ha. It’ll never happen.”
“Don’t be too sure,” the big little happy little clam admonishes. “Don’t be too sure. It’s happened before.”
Lynn Fountain Campbell