« Everybody forgot about the sea, » she muttered. « All they can recall is the silent sound of clouds touching the shores. It seems we have always been floating in the mist. Fog, sky and sun, this is all we know now. »
….Don’t even remember the song of the sea….Don’t remember when earth was floating on an ocean of water ages ago, what it sounded like.
« Miles and miles of water all around us, » she whispers.
Earth was a round rock then. There were lands of corals and wet sand that was wrapped around the core of our planet. And above it came the sparkling deep blue-green sea, all wavy and full of life. Sweetly moving like a coat in the summer wind but also fierce and angry, the sea was the guardian of many wonders. She kept earth’s soul warm and protected…..
« Where dit it all go ? What happened to the sea ? I’m ready to listen, » she says.
Gently, she approaches her hands of the giant round-belly cowrie and pushes her ear against the cold enamel. She closes her eyes and listens to stories of the past and tales of the future delivered by smothered whispers.
The Ladyshell quickly grabs some paper and pen. Turning page after page, her ear still pressed against the shell, she’s writing as fast as possible….the song of the sea.
Her home, a shaky old cabin surrounded by fog and built at the root of a towering lightouse is full of these tales, scribbles on flying pages. She binds them together when the place gets too messy.
At first she would tell the stories to intrigued and amused people. But eventually they got tired of her convoluted riddles and nicknamed Lupitä the Ladyshell seer.
Not that she cares anyway if they mock her, as long as they let her harvest and collect seashells in peace.
So she writes to silence the urge to speak outloud, the urge to tell the stories inside the shells. And since she is the only one who can make sense of it Lupitä decided that it was her duty to record and keep safe this peculiar and ancient knowledge. She feels that someone may need it one day.
She spends days searching for coloured and shiny shells whashed up on the shores, moving from place to place in her small rowing boat. The mist is generous with her goods, the Ladyshell seer never comes home empty-handed.
Always wandering between two worlds she prefers the quiet of the whispering fog to the harsh sun of the higher villages. She would probably forget to eat or come home if it wasn’t for Jöh, her sister.