One late afternoon, the tide had almost finished pulling all the way out. I wandered along the rocky beach on a small island, saw the local little girl jumped and played into the remnants of the arid water next to the ship, the dry summer still. A story here is ribboned with lightning, there dimmed by rain.  By the prosperous, high-technology, wars, hunger, the underbelly of poverty, homelessness, jail cells, and mental illness, on the other; the dream of a sane, safe and secure internet life and the insane nightmare of nuclear holocaust, hiv, monkeypox, malaria, beta, delta. Dark and silence, birth and goneness, life and death, love and brokenness, dreams and anxieties, happiness and traumas, hope and hopelessness, aspirations and collapses. The spaceships the satellites, the current the manifest, the sand the air and cracks, circling the universe together.  Like a ship parked in its reflection, whose animals depart, natural quiet. To which is coming, I am telling you, in the middle of a long or short at the end. How to silence as the ocean that brought us.