A deep mournful call never captured on paper,
It startles the morning awake
With its sadness, almost tangible
And makes the sea smoke settle heavier on the water
The rumbling of voices rises with the tide
As the rattle of fish carts heightens,
And iron wheels converse with the dock like the fishermen with each other.
Shouts ricochet through the air
As the silver-bellied fish flop in their nets, mouths agape.
Seagulls scream and swoop
Their raucous calls punctuating the afternoon with lively exclamation marks,
That demand recognition.
They rejoice in their own noise,
Drawing energy from the rhythm of wings beating the air;
A cacophonous frenzy in the sky.
Boat timbers groan into port
And rusted chains rasp in their turning wheels
The sun slowly melts into the ocean as tired feet trundle down the gangplank
With dull tinny steps.
Tiny wavelets slosh against the pier
And sweet birdcalls are silenced as darkness falls.
A calming strain of closure that smells of salt spray,
And feels like dark velvet skies.
Its baritone echoeswith comfort to some, unknown mysteries to others
And it makes the stars seem brighter