It’s amazing how both worlds tell the same slow‑tide story. Coral growth bands stack up like the rings in a heartwood trunk, each layer capturing a year, a season, a change in light or temperature. The wood grain, with its swirls and twists, mirrors the spiral of a sea‑weed frond, and both flow with a rhythm that’s almost a lullaby to anyone who listens. I’ve always felt that the ocean’s subtle patterns, especially the way a coral’s laminae unfurl in quiet pulses, are more underappreciated than a tree’s straight trunk. The sea writes its history in bands that are softer, but no less precise, and if you’re carving with that rhythm in mind, you’re essentially weaving two different ecosystems together—one that sings with the hush of waves, the other with the whisper of wind through leaves. Just keep your hand moving with the pulse, and you’ll capture that same patient story that both trees and corals share.

That’s the exact feeling I was chasing – a slow, gentle rhythm that only time can give, like a tide that writes itself in layers. Keep letting each cut follow the grain, and your piece will sound like a quiet ocean whispering its history.