A bedtime story
by the sea.

On the night the waves were extra slow, Iris sat on the porch by the ocean. The sound the waves made was the same sound they had been making for a long, long time. Long before Iris had been born. Long before any of the houses on the porch had been built. Long before there were even any porches. "The ocean," Iris's grandma had told her, "is the oldest thing you can see from here." Iris listened to the oldest thing you could see from there. It was, she decided, very good at its job. The waves came in. The waves went out. They had been doing this forever. They would keep doing it forever. Iris went inside. The waves did not stop. The night kept doing its job. And soon, so did she.