the trees, quiver with a certain grace. maneuvering this fertile, sunken soil. the wind carries beneath it’s wings seeds, from a different land. a place, foreign and cold. these tongues, utter a language resembling, the tune of tides. the humpback whales, large as a blue moon, mimics their melody. it’s rhythm does not find itself on dry land. instead, they have wound themselves between sea plants, and the colors of our ocean’s bed. it’s humming, to be listened to with precise attention; by all alive – in the deep blue, under tide.