WEBVTT

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The world existed only in shades of pearl

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and charcoal.

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A heavy, damp morning fog rolled in from

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the open sea,

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swallowing the jagged silhouettes of the coastal village,

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until only the steepest slate roofs and crooked

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chimneys

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floated like islands in the white void.

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Old Mateo moved with the quiet rhythm of

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a man

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who had danced with the tides for fifty

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years.

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Aboard his small fishing boat, the gulls wing

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asterisk,

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he untangled a snarl of sea -green nets,

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his calloused fingers working by memory alone.

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Around him, the harbor was an absolute mirror.

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The water was so unnervingly calm

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that the hull of his vessel seemed suspended

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in midair,

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disturbing the glassy surface only with delicate,

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spreading ripples whenever he shifted his weight.

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Bright orange and faded blue buoys

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bobbed silently against the gunwale,

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like oversized glass beads waiting to be gathered.

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He pushed off from the wooden dock with

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a long ash pole,

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sliding out into the milky expanse without a

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sound.

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There was no wind to speak of,

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just the heavy smell of salt, wet kelp,

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and the faint, sweet promise of fried mackerel

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drifting from a distant cottage window.

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Mateo didn't rush.

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He rowed toward the mouth of the harbor,

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where the deep water waited,

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knowing that the silver -scaled mackerel

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would be thick in the mist today.

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He pulled his wool cap down a little

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tighter

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against the chill,

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smiled a toothless grin at the quiet sea,

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and vanished into the fog.