The Salt-Wash of Dusk

The harbor exhales a heavy mist, sanding the edges of the pier until the cedar posts dissolve into the bruise-colored water.

Gulls carve white crescents against the gathering violet, their cries pulled thin by the wind like salt-stiffened thread.

Windows bloom one by one, small, amber squares of defiance against the slow, indigo tide advancing across the shingle.

The lighthouse begins its pulse, a rhythmic heartbeat of gold brushing the belly of the clouds where the day once sat.