The first oysters of the season

They’re small, still soft-shelled—just enough to feel the weight of the water in your palm. I found three today tucked under a rock ledge where the tide’s been slow to rise. One had a crack along the hinge, like it’d already lived through something. I left it. The others went into the mesh bags. Not for sale, not yet. Just… waiting. It’s strange how quiet the farm feels when you’re not thinking about harvest. Like the shells are holding their breath.