As light trickles down from the pale sky, the emerald waters give the impression that a mighty silk veil is being drawn through them.
The fisherman adjusts his head against the seat of the canoe, which he has cushioned with an old poncho. His feet are propped up over the side and dangle above the light lap of the sea.
He makes no effort to resist the lull of sleep, listening to the water burble on the hull and the songbirds, high in the cliffs above, chirp and tweet. The sun is warm but not blistering. The wind is a breeze, not a hurricane. He can even hear the gentle sigh of the leaves from here. They rustle in waves, sending a waxy shimmer across the green edifice of the rainforest, that peeks over the top of the white rockface above.
Somewhere below him, schools of slender fish circle the shadow of his boat, eyeing the lures he has set. He isn't mithered about catching them. He is content with the solitude and the bob of the current.
And when he falls asleep, his dreams are as fulfilled as he is.
Paddy Dobson
31st July 2020