Whisper of the Tide

The moon called the ocean, and it answered with a soft ripple against jagged rocks. The wind whispered ancient secrets, stories about mariners who once rode its currents, bound for destinies unknown. A fisherman, slight-backed and weather-worn, stands silently beside the water, ear to the hum of the sea, forgotten half-formed songs hanging in his mind like echoes.

"Did anyone hear the tide tonight?" he mumbles, not expecting anyone to reply. Years spent by the sea nurture an understanding that is not verbal. His line casts into the dark water, a thread between worlds seen and unseen, woven into the whispers, trailing like a thought unspoken. A soft sigh arises from the ocean, cradling his presence in a gentle sway.

The fisherman thinks of his boat, of salt and oil, of the sun-warm timber that cradles children during storm warnings as they read novels long abandoned by the adults. The boat is both home and refuge, much like the whispers of the tide washing over forgotten boyhood dreams, each swell a reminder of the rhythms life carves into the earth.