Treasures of the Ancestors( DIAMETER 20INCH)

The elder sat alone at the wooden table, fingers tracing the smooth cowrie shells resting in his palm. Once, these shells flowed through bustling markets, exchanged for fabrics and spices, carrying whispers of ancient traders who knew the rhythms of the earth. Beside them, gold coins gleamed under the candlelight, symbols of a wealth not measured in riches but in perseverance—each one earned through labor, through sacrifice.
At the heart of the collection sat a small gold carved turtle ring, carved with care, its shell worn from generations of hands passing it down. "Patience," his grandfather had once said. "A turtle moves slow but lives long enough to witness all." Next to it, the black box lay slightly ajar, its red interior holding secrets—letters from ancestors, perhaps an heirloom too fragile to expose to the world.
The glass of whiskey sat untouched, reflecting the elder's gaze. Tonight was not about indulgence but reflection. He lifted the cowrie shells once more, letting them fall with a soft clatter against the wood. The past spoke to him through objects, through whispers carried in the stillness of the night. Here, in the quiet, the treasures of the ancestors told their stories—and in them, his own was written too.