These birds clearly skipped their surfing lessons.

The ocean seemed to pulse with an energy that defied its vastness. Each wave rose like a question and fell like an answer I could almost grasp but not quite hold. The cormorants above me moved in synchronized arcs, their wings slicing through the air as if they were cutting paths into the evening itself. One bird dipped low enough to skim the surface before rising again into the fading light. I shifted my gaze back to the shoreline; the sand bore faint imprints of their earlier presence. It struck me how fleeting these marks were—gone with the next gust or wave—and yet they carried a quiet permanence in memory. Somewhere behind me, laughter echoed faintly from a distant group, but it felt as though it belonged to another world entirely.