Plymbury Micro Magic: Harbor Lights Know
Design by Kendra Vaughan
Harbor Lights Know
By the time the sun slid behind the harbor, the town had turned itself into a constellation.
White twinkle lights traced every porch rail and shop window along the street, but it was the strand at the end of the pier that caught Ava’s attention—the uneven row someone had looped along the railing, dipping low in the middle. The lights looked almost embarrassed to be there, a little tired, a little crooked, but still shining.
Ava leaned her elbows on the cold wood and watched the water shift from iron gray to ink black, the lights doubling themselves in the ripples—two sets of stars, one above and one below, separated by a thin, shivery line of sea.
In the distance, the bell buoy chimed—a soft, hollow note that sounded like encouragement.
“You don’t have to have everything figured out,” she whispered to the water, to the lights, to whatever listened. “You just have to keep showing up. One day at a time.”
Ava smiled because it felt like they already knew that.
A stray gust nudged the sagging center of the strand. The lowest bulb flickered, then steadied, burning a little brighter than the rest, as if smiling back at her.
The lights kept their glow. For tonight, that was enough.
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