This morning, I took my dog for a walk along the beach, expecting nothing more than the usual rhythm of waves, salt air, and sand under my shoes. It was early enough that the shoreline was mostly empty, the tide still low, and the world felt quiet in that specific way only the ocean can create—like everything is paused between breaths.
My dog ran a little ahead, stopping every few steps to sniff the ground and tug at patches of seaweed. I followed at an easy pace, watching the water roll in and out, thinking about nothing in particular.
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