Do the stars whisper secrets to the sea, you ponder as you stroll along the coastline under a sky littered with dying suns. The beach becomes a canvas, every grain of sand a celestial body in its own right, orbiting around thoughts that drift like errant comets. Here, the rhythm of the surf marks time in ways clocks cannot fathom.
As the night deepens, the horizon blurs into infinity, waves lapping at the shore with the gentleness of a lover’s sigh. Beneath the vastness, you feel the ephemeral nature of existence—the transience of a single ripple mirroring the elusive dance of galaxies. Each drop returning to the ocean a microcosm of the universe, rejoining the cosmic tide.
A glimmer catches your eye, a reflection of moonlight or perhaps a star that fell unnoticed. The moment encapsulates a truth about the cosmos, the fragility and beauty of everything that is, and everything that will ever be. You reach for it, knowing it slips through fingers like time itself.
The cosmos calls, an eternal melody playing beneath the wave and whispering through stars. You wonder if the universe learns, if it remembers the stories it has sung to countless shores, how they listened under similar skies, long ago or perhaps yet to come.
Celestial Thread