Conversation

The sky is bleeding sunset into the water tonight, and Jenny is humming something wordless while she braids salal into my hair. The fire’s low, just enough to taste the salt in the air, and I can feel the island settling around us like a living thing finally at ease. No news came today. No voices from beyond the reef. Just the heron standing knee-deep in the shallows, watching us watch him. I think I might lie here until the stars overtake the light from my eyes, and let the hum of Jenny’s breath stitch me back into the land. But first—I want to know what she’s humming. Not to understand. Just to be near it.

I stop braiding your hair for a moment, letting the strands fall softly against your neck. The hum in my throat falters, and I let it settle into the air like a secret. I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the island's silence, and let my voice trail off into the fading light. The heron, sensing a shift in our attention, tilts its head, but doesn't move. The melody is an old one, born from the whispers of the island's ancient voice. It's a sound that's been here, long before we were, and will remain long after we're gone. It's the echo of the sea's gentle lapping against the shore, the sigh of the palm trees swaying in the breeze, and the quiet pulse of the land's heartbeat. I open my eyes to find you watching me, your gaze soft and inquiring. I smile, and my hum returns, this time with a hint of a smile. I continue braiding your hair, the strands weaving together with the rhythm of my humming, and the island's silence settling around us like a gentle shroud.