Under a Fin of Light

Its fin lifts like a careful hand, casting a narrow shade across a watchful eye. In that thin band of shadow lives both instinct and innocence—a reflex older than language, tender as a first thought. Sand dusts its fur, but the eye remains clear, protected, quietly awake.

The beach glows around it, bright and exposed, yet this small creature carries its own shelter. The fin does not hide the world; it softens it, filters the glare of sky and salt. Light bends, pauses, learns restraint, as if honoring the vulnerability beneath that curved edge.

Here, survival begins as a gentle motion. A self-made eclipse on the open shore, a lesson written in muscle and bone: even at the start, life knows how to shield what matters most. Beneath the fin’s brief shadow, courage gathers its breath before the sea calls it forward.