The world pulses.
Land, water, ice expand and contract.
Some within the sight of our lifetime, some within the sight of the mountains.
There is a beat to it, a constant refrain beneath the feet, at the tips of the fingers.
We caught the tide on our way to the island.
There are those that live in that in-between space,
Who stay when the water retreats and move when it returns.
It is another world, the intertidal,
The space of sometimes water, sometimes land.
Those within that space live by the constant dance between the moon and the earth,
The million partners in a larger dance.
In the dark, the trace of light creates a pathway across the waves.
Creates a point of measurement for those who lie beneath.
They chase the currents, find the pools and rocks,
Those who dwell in the breath of tides.
Lives measured by the space between the pull.
By the moon.
By the water.
Barnacles are an integral part of the dance
The intertidal is one of my favourite places to spend time. There are few things as beautiful or strange as the creatures who dwell within it.
For more zones of interface, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.