As I wandered the beach on a fall-like day (it is after all San Diego, and fall-like is the best I can hope for), I came upon droves of sea glass. I've been collecting sea glass for years, from all over the world. Everywhere I travel near the ocean, I bring a piece of sea glass home with me. It is essentially trash yes, random bottles ravished by the ocean, but to me it is something much more. I hold it in the palm of my hand, caressing the smooth edges of something that when new would have sliced my hand open. The colors of the glass mimic the ocean, and I imagine the travels of this piece of glass, where it might have started and how it got to the beach where it now rests at my feet. I think of my writing, and where it may take me in the months to come. Where I started, where I am now, and where I may end up. Like a piece of glass, my edges have smoothed over the years, pieces of me have become part of my travels, and as my writing develops, my experiences flow into words. I look at this glass not only as a thing of beauty, but also of change, of enduring change, and see myself.