When I was very young

The first time I found my shell was on a family trip to the seaside when I was very young. I wandered away from our towels and over a dune. In a refraction of the sunlight I spotted my shell, half buried in the sand. Stumbling down the dune I dropped to my knees to admire the curves, the layers, the colours that had been picked when the earth crafted one of its most successful creations.
Hearing my name yelled aloud shattered the moment just as I reached forward to lay a hand.
'Come back', I was instructed, 'that's not for you.'
'Mother', I pleaded, 'please!'
She was resolute; her eyes told me no. Her eyes told me I didn't know where it might have been and it might not belong to me.
'Look but don't touch' was the direction. 'Come back to the family right now' was the undertone. I turned back one last time and I know somehow I connected before I was dragged away.