Carved in salt and shadow.
The light was soft but certain—the kind that doesn’t chase attention, just rests. It moved across her back like memory—warming the spine, catching in the shallow dip beneath the shoulder blade. Sand clung in quiet patches, not for effect, but because it had nowhere else to be.
The sea stayed behind her, but it mirrored her somehow—one horizon folding into another. I gave direction, yes, but the image happened in between. In the stillness, in the shift of her weight, in the way her back became part of the landscape.
I wasn’t chasing a perfect frame.
It just appeared—already composed.
Like something the day had planned long before I arrived.
