The ocean is in a good mood this morning … calm, kind, and I’ve got a coffee in hand. A (thankfully) grey November sky hangs above Miami Beach, the waves lined up in rows of promise, and the air carries that first brave sound of children running toward water.

They’re called Nippers here, the ‘learner’ surf lifesavers. Every Sunday morning they gather in bright-pink rash vests, learning how to read the sea before the sea decides to test them. They run, swim, paddle, rescue. They fall, laugh, and get back up. It’s a training ground for courage, disguised as play.

We drift through one of those mornings, the smell of sunscreen and barbecued onions, the whistles, the laughter, the parents pretending not to pray. It’s a love letter to the small rituals that teach us how to reach for each other long before we understand why it matters.

Out in the surf, a girl mistimes a wave and disappears for a breath. Another child, half her size, same size fear, reaches out and steadies her. It lasts only a heartbeat, but it holds the whole meaning of the day for me.

If you’ve ever stood on the edge of something bigger than you, or watched someone you love find their footing, this will feel familiar. It’s about salty, repeating moments that turn instinct into care, the muscle memory of kindness.

Bit of info about nippers…

* Miami Beach Surf Life Saving Club (QLD) — where mornings like this begin.

* Surf Life Saving Australia — the national movement training generations to read the sea.

Thanks for drifting with me.

Ps. I’m practising with sound depths, to try to layer wind, surf, laughter, and light into these stories. I am practicing a new way to tell them, a way for you to feel more what i am trying to share with you. I’m learning and am super open to feedback.

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