On searching for sand dollars

Early on the morning of my divorce,
I took to the beach
with my dog
and a mission—
find two sand dollars,
one for me,
one for a partner-to-be—
someone to step into the void
to brace against the solitude
to make the breaking of a couple
bearable.

Step after step
as the sun turned
the pre-dawn sky and water
from grey to lilac to pink to blue,
I found
sea glass
in just as many colors
in triangles, squares, rectangles
in fish shapes
in shards and minute specks
half curves from bottle necks
circles from bottle bottoms
buffeted by sea and sand
or clear, with still-sharp edges.

No sand dollars.

The volume of glass stunned me.
It was as if the ocean
had sensed the shattering
of my marriage
and heaved itself up
to spew its contents
on my shore.

Slowly,
the urgency of my mission ebbed.
Step after step,
a calm acceptance settled over me,
and I marveled
at the abundant potential
for the joy that surprises
when you let a mission come to you
instead of seeking it out deliberately.

I stood
and faced the sea,
the bag of sea glass
heavy at my side,
and breathed in the salt air smell
of a brand new day.

As I turned to go,
my eyes fell
upon a single,
solitary
sand dollar.

Perfect
for my party of one.