The sea speaks in whispers, in the kind of language that binds the stars to the horizon, stitched together by the salt and foam. Each wave a note in a never-ending melody, a pulse orchestrated by moons unseen. We walk along the shore, footsteps tracing echoes of a past tide, the sands shifting beneath the knowledge of forgotten waves.
Real-life composers often traverse these shores: symphonists hoping to capture a fragment of the tide's song, each crest a chance note slipping through their fingers. Their symphonies, as elusive as the sea mist, intricate harmonies shaped by earthly frailty. Yet, who among us could truly decipher the ocean's opus, scored in the forgotten margins of sand and kelp?
Read more about the waves' dancePerhaps one day, under a dawning sky licked by golden hues, we will find ourselves listening, really listening, to the symphony the tide has always played. Until then, we make do with our meager musings, our hearts attuned to a rhythm that beats in concert with the elusive, the infinite, the unknown.
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