The Obsidian Tide

The ocean swallows the sun in a slow, deliberate gulp of crimson, leaving behind a sky bruised purple and the silence of receding water over stones rubbed smooth by time.

We stand at the edge of this dark glass, watching our shadows stretch thin across the wet, packed sand, waiting for the first white pinprick to pierce the bruised canopy above.

A sudden chill, born of salt and distance, sweeps off the restless, heaving chest of the deep, carrying whispers of things unseen, untouched, and ancient beyond memory.