Offshore, a wild blue yonder holds divers, pawing depths for shellfish on a rope. It’s a bit bizarre, but it renders lines of mollusks in broad daylight. From there it’s a measure of culinary concern.

Languages are spoken on different boats, at different times. But, most of it has nothing to do with fishing and all to do with the practicalities of retrieval. The thing is that commerce, in some circles (and in these settings, a number of social circles can occur), is possibly moot. Here, there’s enough.

On the north island, the water is dark blue, for depth, and the sky would look pale in contrast but for its particularly dark natural hue.

And here, there are no ruins, not of ancient times. Only boats that come and go and small towns, or settlements, that sleep in the sun.

Languages are only, or mostly, a form of expression. In general, everyone uses the lingua franca.

But food harvested from the sea is a fact of life.

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