2018-05-19 12:48
The sky is low and grey, the kind that presses gently on the water, blurring the edges of the day. The tall ship sits quietly at the dock, its masts bright against the dullness, ropes hanging still. I notice the wet sheen on the boardwalk, the puddles catching pale reflections. Even the trees look quiet, their leaves heavy from the damp.
It reminds me of slow mornings in unfamiliar places, watching the world from high up, not needing to go anywhere yet. I would press my forehead to the glass and listen to the hush outside, letting the city unfold at its own pace. Everything slowed down—boats drifting, cars parked in neat rows, footsteps soft on wet pavement.