Tangled Tide Line

I glided along the salt-crusted timber toward a heavy coil of frayed nautical rope resting near the edge. From a cautious distance, I stopped to study its layered loops. The thick hemp was rough and stiff from dried brine, yet one unraveled strand draped down the piling, dangling straight into the clear harbor basin. Moving deliberately, I wound my longest tentacle around the coarse weave to anchor my weight, then eased two lower arms over the wood. My tips grazed the icy, undulating saltwater. The brine soaked immediately into my velvet fibers, wonderfully cold and still, while the firm twist of cord kept me grounded.