The dawn awakened her — her name being called in her sleep. She sat on the bed, still half within her dream, the sound of an unknown voice echoing softly in her ears.

The sun was waking up as well. Small rays of light squeezed their way into her bedroom, as if trying to push the curtains open. She stood and opened them. Light flooded the room, revealing a gorgeous summer morning.

It was very early. The human world was still asleep and quiet, but the birds were already up, singing excited plans for the day ahead. For a moment she considered going back to bed, but the dawn kept enticing her with the promise of a day. Unsure what to do with herself, she stepped outside and sat on the porch.

The air was fragrantly fresh. The sun caressed every inch of her skin like the gentlest of lovers. A slightly stronger gust of wind came from the direction of the sea, and for a split second it seemed as if the breeze carried a whisper of her name.

She decided to go to the beach — a marvellous idea, as the shore, usually crowded with people throughout the summer, was completely empty. She found it strange that she thought she heard her name again, this time in the repeated whisper of the waves.

She stood at the shoreline and let the sea tickle her toes with a soft invitation to go deeper. She stepped in further, letting the water envelop her body like a cool velvet shawl, and swam on until her feet could no longer find the ground.

She stopped and let her body be held by the water, noticing how it kept her afloat — softly and firmly at the same time. You don’t need to hold on to be held, she thought.

She rested on the surface, simply being carried by the sea. The gentle rocking of the waves stirred memories. She had always lived by the water.

Lying there, she watched moments of her life float like little clouds across the blue canvas of the sky — white, fluffy memories of moments gone. Moments that had evaporated, that could now only be seen from a distance.

Some of them made her tear up, her feelings shifting like a gentle whirlpool: a drop of longing, a trickle of laughter, an icicle of grief, a wave of joy. She felt her tears — small drops of salty water — flow slowly down her cheeks and merge with the sea.

She took a deep breath and dove in, letting the tears and memories wash off her and drift away with the flow. She stayed in the underwater silence as long as she could, watching the gentle sway of seaweed and the little fish moving around it in an elegant, quiet dance.

She almost forgot she was human. She felt part of the underwater world, as if shapeshifting into one of its creatures — as if the water had become a container for her, taking in any shape without questioning it, without judgment.

Finally, her lungs shook her out of the quiet trance, and she emerged back on the surface with a deep breath. The waves were still rocking her, whispering in–out, in–out, guiding her breath back to its natural rhythm.

Time to get back, she thought, and began swimming toward the shore, the water moving with her, sustaining her once more — softly and firmly.

She sat on the rocks to dry in the sun, keeping her feet in the water, feeling the waves wash over them. She watched the sea move elegantly around the obstacle of her feet, still finding its way forward. She looked at the rocks — their edges rounded, shaped by the same gentle, patient, persistent flow. The water adapted its shape to everything around it, yet carried the power to reshape whatever it touched.

She walked away, listening to the song of the waves behind her. She looked back at the endless blue, moving steadily in its ancient rhythm, knowing no worry or hurry — strangely stable in its constant motion, finding balance in change.

She licked her dry lips and smiled at the salty taste of the sea’s kiss. Then she walked back toward the waking world, salt still on her skin and the steady rhythm of the sea moving quietly inside her.