Juno’s Button of Tides — Under the lantern dock, Juno tucked a tiny brass button beneath one arm and watched the harbor lift churn silver water. Read the full story →
Under the lantern dock, Juno tucked a tiny brass button beneath one arm and watched the harbor lift churn silver water. The lift rose only when the ferry bells rang, whoosh-thump, carrying crabs, sea grass, and brave little fish up to the moonlit pilings. Juno had never joined it before. She tapped the button’s smooth rim, counted three bubbles, and pushed off.
Up she spun, arms wide, suckers tingling against the fizzing current. The dock smelled of rope, salt, and engine smoke. “Hold tight, button,” she whispered, though the button did not need holding. It hummed against her skin, warm as a sunbeam saved in metal.
Then the bubbles arranged themselves around her—not wild at all, but in dotted paths, circling left, dipping right, pointing to quiet water between the pilings. The button had come from an old diver’s cuff, made to feel the tide’s tiny pulls. Juno followed its hum and slipped neatly through the lift’s highest swirl. Next time you see her arms curled like racing ribbons, can you spot the little courage she carried into the whoosh-thump?
