Wave -

At first, it is a question. A swelling of the belly, a curve too slight for the eye to trust. Then, as the seabed rises to meet it, the question sharpens. The trough deepens. The crest curls into a glassy lip, holding the light like a held breath.

And out there, past the horizon, the wind is already breathing again. At first, it is a question

And then it does.

Watch closely. The next one is already on its way. past the horizon

Then the water hesitates. It pulls back, hissing through the gravel, dragging shells and secrets into its dark hold. The beach is clean. The slate is wiped. hissing through the gravel