The Harbour
The harbour begins to wake as the rhythmic chug of boat engines slowly return. The waves explode like bombs against the harbour wall. Fog is dispersing to view a fantasy of narrow streets strung with captivating souvenir shops and sophisticated restaurants. Morning darkness fades, slowly the clouds drift, revealing a pure, spotless blue sky. The town hall strikes 8 o’clock, shop shutters rattle as they raise, doors bursting open with a helping hand awaiting to welcome the customer with an embrace. A pungent smell of fish fills the air. A gust of wind full with repulsive odour lingers. Sun-kissed light pours from the sky, the reflection upon the water blinding. Solitary streets are now animated. Harmony is no more but the day is still premature.
Exhaust fumes float as workers withdraw from their homes and start up their engines. The traffic is solid throughout the town. People barge their way to local banks and supermarkets through overflowing pathways. Tourists disembark upon the harbour, beginning the long awaited holiday. An enchanted wonderland of fair attractions sit upon the end of the pier, slowly they complete their circuits. Breakfast bars open in the car parks serving up crisp bacon sandwiches dripping with butter and blistering coffee. Along the harbour front, fishermen sit mending their nets as though they are knitting. People drift in and out of streets, some white, some red, some tanned; the sun’s violent rays causing skins pigment to discolour. Young and old take a morning stroll along a beach like stretch of empty space. The view is cleared, what you see sends shivers down your back, the sea’s elegance and harbour in almost complete perfection.
