I walked through the harbour early this morning. Still dark, I cannot always make out what is ahead of me. But there are also the noises and the smells that seem so particular to the place. The boats’ rigging alternately rattling and clanging in the wind, the water making the vessels bob and clash and then there’s the stink of the lobster pots and the nets. I negotiate all these sensory interruptions blind. This morning there was a sound I couldn’t decipher. It was a kind of rasping, a metallic grinding. Was someone working on their boat at that hour? I never discovered the answer. I felt alone but perhaps I wasn’t.
