I looked at the boats docked, flapping in rhythm, multi-colored, seemed like straight out a child’s picture book. They are the fleet of fishing boats lying idle waiting for the right time to set sail for their fishing expeditions. Most of the deck men were sweating and preoccupied in taking care of ropes, nets, and of the fishing gear and the machines that kept the boats sail worthy.
Hundreds of boats painted in blues and yellows tied loosely at the pier, their masts like spears arose in unison piercing the early morning mist.
The waters were glassy with no ripples reflecting so honestly the hovering boats in good colors and sizes not ruffling a single stripe of their profiles: I walked through the decks seizing the photo-worthy surreal images.