Bamboo chimes sing in the rising wind, each note carried on salt air toward the lagoon where ancestors once read the sky. Distant thunder rolls like a remembered promise across the reef flat, low and patient. A clear harmonic overtone settles the breath into the rhythm of tide and palm frond, anchoring scattered thoughts to the atoll's pulse. Here meditation is not escape but return — to the maneaba's quiet center, to the certainty that land and people endure the squall together.