The birds on the shore are probably debating if flying is worth it.

The water churned with a restless energy that mirrored something unspoken within me. The birds took to the air one by one, their wings cutting sharp lines against the horizon’s fading glow. The sand beneath my feet was cool now, an anchor to this moment as the wind carried fragments of salt into my lungs. I watched as the waves chased each other toward the shore—an endless pursuit without resolution. The birds on the ground remained still, their silhouettes etched against the golden backdrop like an unfinished thought. It struck me how they seemed to embody both freedom and restraint at once—a paradox I couldn’t quite unravel but felt compelled to admire.