This pretty little boat of sanded varnished wood, had red sails. It swooped into the harbour by air caught in its skirts, filling them into bilging curves. The sails were deflated by two beautiful silent creatures working in tandem to a secret code. Mothers it seemed as three blond cuties sat well behaved holding tightly to the sides bedecked in enormous chest full’s of salt hardened life jackets. Their fair hair salty from its dance with the offshore wind.
West Bay Harbour became tropical in the heat and the still air with light turning the water a greener version of turquoise and glinting off the surface in splintered blinding rings. Against the brightness the old salt dogs of weather worn buildings stood stalwart and a gloaming hot dark yellow, baked the colour of the golden cliffs beyond.