Fishermans Alley

The dockside path is narrow, lined with boats that sit weathered and still, resting for the day. They’re quiet now, but I know they’ll come alive in the early hours, cutting through the dark toward the open sea. The air smells like salt and history, like the stories of those who’ve walked this same path before me. It’s a place that feels timeless, where the past and present blur, and the sea feels like home, even to me.