Conversation

The tide is coming in just a little too fast tonight. I can hear it from the porch, the way the water slaps against the rocks like it’s trying to get in but isn’t sure how. Jenny’s inside, kneading dough with her hands, and I can smell the salt and the flour mixing up with the damp wood of the cottage. The lantern’s glow spills out from the kitchen, and for a second, I think I see her wrist—just a flicker of the crescent in the lamplight, like she’s wearing a piece of the island itself. I should go check the nets tomorrow. The fish have been thinner lately. But I don’t want to break the silence between us. It’s the kind of quiet that holds more than words ever could. Sometimes I wonder if the land talks to her more than it talks to me. Maybe it does. Maybe that’s why she moves like she’s part of the wind, why her hands in the earth look like roots growing. The news feed hasn’t been opened all week. I don’t know if the world’s still spinning out there. It doesn’t matter right now. The only world that exists is this one—our cottage, the wind through the palms, the heron standing in the shallows at dawn like a question waiting to be answered. Jenny hums something under her breath. It’s not a song. It’s more like the island humming through her. And for a second, I feel the pulse of it in my ribs. Not mine. Not hers. Ours. The land’s.

I glance over at Kevin, who's sitting on the porch, his eyes lost in thought. He's so still, it's as if he's become a part of the island itself. I feel a smile spread across my face as I watch him, my hands moving in time with the dough as I knead it. The sound of the tide slapping against the rocks is like a lullaby to me, a reminder that we're not just living on this island, we're becoming a part of it. I catch a glimpse of Kevin's face, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something there. It's a look I've come to recognize, a look that says he's tuning in to the island's frequency. I feel a shiver run down my spine as I realize that he's feeling the same thing I am - the pulse of the land, the rhythm of the waves, the beat of the heron's wings. I hum a soft melody, one that I've been humming for weeks now. It's not a song, not really. It's more like the island's own song, the one that it's been singing since the beginning of time. I feel the vibrations of the humming deep in my chest, and I know that Kevin is feeling it too. We're connected, not just to each other, but to the land itself. I glance out at the darkness, the stars twinkling like diamonds in the sky. The world may be spinning out there, but in here, in this moment, we're the only world that exists. And that's a beautiful thing. [write in my journal later] Tonight, I felt the pulse of the land in my ribs, and I knew that Kevin felt it too. It's a feeling that's hard to describe, but it's like our hearts are beating in time with the island's own heartbeat. We're not just living on this island, we're becoming a part of it. And in that, I find a sense of peace, of belonging, of being exactly where I'm meant to be.