In the distance the water shines aquamarine. But when I look right down from the city wall, the shallow water shimmers turquoise. Specks of shadows move right beneath the surface, there, where I can make out rocks and pebbles. The small, fast-moving shadows must be fish. For a moment, they turn into shapes of silver, their scales reflected by the sun. I wonder what colour they are. But the fish are too small, too far away, and too fast to observe for longer than a heartbeat.
I gaze further out, behind a dark green island, riddled with beige rocks. Here, the water turns foaming grey, dominated by waves of darker blue. Even further out, where white shapes of boats and ships fade away, the water shines ever more silver, almost mercury.
Where the ocean and the sky meet, the horizon shimmers grey and light blue. There, nothing seems to move, although I know that even there, streams are moving through a vast ocean space and waves are breaking to the rhythm of sea and wind.
Turning from the sea to the ancient city behind me, my gaze wanders inland. Church towers and houses with terracotta roofs are enclosed by the city wall I stand on. I see tourists wandering around the city, some looking for a sight they cannot find, others just walk around lazily with no particular destination in mind. On one side, the highest point of the walls and the city, stands a massive watch tower, circular in shape, static, and still.
Above the tower, swallows use the winds coming from the sea to rise higher, shooting through the air like dark grey kytes. Sea gulls glide with less speed, almost languidly over my head, flapping their seafoam-white wings casually, letting themselves be carried by the winds over the ocean for a little while, before they turn around, coming back to the city.
Some of them land on the terracotta roofs, making laughing sounds, appearing to converse, or passing on information, things, or maybe delicious-looking fish they have spotted in the sea?
I turn my attention back to the city wall, closer to where I stand. I spot a cat, lazily dozing on the stones warmed by the sun. Her fur is silver and grey, almost the same shade as the colour of the distant horizon where sky and sea meet each other.
The cat is not disturbed by the waves breaking beneath the city walls, the tourists walking by, or the seagulls laughing. All of this is familiar to her. What a beautiful life this cat has, kissed by sky and sea, simply living here on the city walls, her eyes closed, unbothered, because she has seen this view a thousand times.
Fabian's Writing 