The first oysters of the season

They’re smaller than I expected—just shy of two inches, still soft-shelled and trembling in the cold. I found them tucked under a rock ledge at low tide, like secrets the sea forgot to tell. Took me an hour to gather twenty, not because they were hard to find, but because I kept pausing: to watch the light bleed across the water, to listen to the way the tide pulls back with a sound like someone exhaling after a long wait. I don’t know if they’ll grow big enough to sell, but I’m keeping them anyway. They feel like a promise.