Ocean Rhapsody rises like a song without beginning or end. An improvisation of tides, breath, and silence. Greens and blues drift into one another, dissolving boundaries like water folding into itself. Veins of red cut through the calm, a sudden surge, a reminder of the ocean’s pulse beneath its surface. Fragments of music appear and vanish, as if the sea were composing its own score, unwritten, unrestrained. The textures carry both turbulence and stillness, echoing the rhythm of waves that erase and return, again and again. This is not a seascape but a memory of listening: to the ocean’s voice, to the vastness that hums in every crest and undertow.