A light on the horizon

FIELD LOG:
Earth-Adjacent, Mid-Ocean Layer

It’s so dark you can’t see the waves hitting the hull, but you can hear them.
Feel them.
The hull resonates with every hit — low, deep, hypnotic. If you’re not careful, it puts you in a trance.

Then — a light on the horizon.
At first, you think: another little boat.
It grows.
Bigger. Brighter. Coming fast.

Your gut says container ship, and your gut is almost never wrong at sea.
You check radar, scan for answers — but it’s bearing straight for you. Every time, it feels like death arriving. Doesn’t matter if you’ve seen it once or a hundred times — it gets every sailor, every time.

And then — you realize.
It’s the moon.

You laugh.
“Oh, hey, moon.”

The fear dissolves into something better than relief.
You can see the ocean now — not just hear it.
It’s beautiful, glorious… and you know deep down, God planned it exactly this way.