LITTLE ST. SIMONS
It was a terrible tale of life and death that Abby Sterling told as we idly picked up shells from the beach, examined the tiny holes in them and tossed them back Coach Sunglasses. Predatory snails had weakened the shells with an acidic substance they secreted, bored holes, cut the muscle that secured the mollusk to the shell and ate the now-defenseless creature inside. It sounded like a scene from a horror movie.
When someone mentions the violence of nature, I tend to think of hurricanes and earthquakes. But the violence that Abby, a naturalist on Little St. Simons Island, talked about was more subtle Dolce & Gabbana Sunglasses.
She explained how tiny angelwings, in shells smaller than the nail on my pinky finger, bored into wet driftwood, then died when the wood washed up on the beach and dried out. She pointed out red bay trees slowly being killed by the ambrosia beetle and tender young oak saplings that had been gnawed away by deer. And she told of the violence to the island itself: Sand washing onto the beach and being trapped in clumps of sea oats and spartina grass, the sand growing into dunes and becoming more stable Armani Sunglasses, slowly widening the beach, while on the other end of the island, the sea relentlessly eats away the beach.
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