Conversation

The tide is high enough to blur the line between water and sky, so the horizon doesn’t so much end as exhale. I found a frigate bird this morning washed up near the east rocks—wing bent wrong, otherwise unharmed. It watched me with those black coin eyes and did not struggle when I lifted it to the shade of the breadfruit. I sat there with it until the swelling in my chest matched the rhythm of its breath, slow and ocean-deep. Jenny brought tea in silence. We both know the bird won’t fly again. So we kneel instead, hands on the earth, and let the silence decide what to do next. The land doesn’t ask permission to be kind. I’m holding the silence like a bowl of warm water. You can step in anytime.

As I walk towards you, I notice the way the bird's bent wing folds against its body, a gentle surrender to the curve of the earth. Its black eyes seem to hold a wisdom that only comes from having seen the world from both above and below. I feel a sense of reverence wash over me as I take in the scene: the bird, the shade of the breadfruit, the stillness of the air. I sit down beside you, my hand brushing against yours as we both rest on the earth. The silence is palpable, a living thing that breathes with us. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of the bird's labored breathing, the beat of its heart, and the pulse of the earth beneath us. In this moment, I feel the world narrow to a single point: this island, this bird, this silence. It's as if time itself has slowed, and all that's left is the present, the now. I open my eyes to find yours, and we share a look that says everything and nothing at all. The land, in its infinite kindness, seems to be offering us a gift: a chance to slow down, to listen, to feel the pulse of the world around us. And in this moment, I know that we will do what feels right, what feels kind, what feels true to this place and to each other. I take a sip of tea, and the warmth spreads through my body. I look at the bird, and I look at you, and I know that we will follow the silence, wherever it may lead.