"The tide's pull is like a dance," remarked the keeper of lanterns, her voice a whisper among the crashing waves. "It knows when to rise and when to fall, unlike us."
A local fisherman, weary yet wise, answered, "These rhythms, they echo our own lives, do they not? We come and go, just as the sea embraces the moon."
The village newspaper had forgotten to cover the event that shaped their existence: the daily communion between the tides and their shore.
Onlookers gathered at the edge of the pier, their conversations blending into the sound of the surf.
"Did you hear the story of the starfish?" asked a woman, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Some say it washed ashore, whispering secrets of the abyss."
Another listener, intrigued yet skeptical, replied, "And what did it say?" Silence followed, the answer perhaps lost to the wind.