I was on my back, cracking oysters, when Mother Otter touched the sky: a ripple through the waters, through the air, like a pebble dropped at the edge of the world.

She’d always wanted to see the horizon; when she swaddled me in kelp, she’d tell me imagined tales of the deep blue; when I fished shining pebbles and little pink starfish from the pale sands, I’d surface to find her gazing into the distance, beyond the shallows which we called home.

Once I was grown, she had to go; love had delayed her adventure too long, and I blessed her departure with approval and trepidation in equal measure.

The night sky still shimmers in aftermath. I hope she returns, to tell me of where the sky and sea meet, for I share her curiosity as much as I lack her bravery.

Until then, I’ll marvel at the shifting lights that throng the heavens and glamour the sea, the wonders that Mother hath wrought.