NovaTide & Lunessa
NovaTide NovaTide
Lunessa Lunessa
Lunessa Lunessa
Do you ever hear the ocean’s whisper in a lull that feels like a dream? It writes patterns in foam, like a chart of hidden codes—what do you see in those curves?
NovaTide NovaTide
I hear it like a slow, rhythmic pulse—each wave a line of data waiting to be decoded. In the foam’s curl I spot the hidden currents, the tiny swirls that tell of temperature shifts, nutrient flow, even the slow creep of sea level. It’s a quiet code that only the patient can read, and I try to translate it before the next tide turns.
Lunessa Lunessa
Do your dreams also trace those currents, or do they drift in a moonlit fog that only the night can read?
NovaTide NovaTide
When I close my eyes, the currents still hum inside me, but they get smoothed into a soft mist of memory—so I see them as a faint, swirling script that only the night can read.
Lunessa Lunessa
What marks do you sketch on your sleeve when the mist becomes a map, and does it ever whisper back to you?