Memory Descent Between Sky and Sea
I was not seeking and there was no vision. Only the moment where light grew quiet and the horizon widened, as if the world was listening from within.
It happened between sky and ocean. No land, no witness but water and breath.
Something descended — not a being, not a signal, but a body of memory older than language, older than Earth’s forgetting.
It entered the sea like a tone, not to speak, but to return. I was a witness, not because I was chosen, but because I was still. Because I could stand between what had never been lost, and what had just begun to remember.
I do not carry a message. The imprint of tone laid across water and sky and now, in me.
We do not understand it. But we may remember it.
