Even the clouds seem to be daydreaming here.

The path led downward toward Little Wategos Beach, where the land seemed to yield reluctantly to the sea. The vegetation clung to the slopes like a last defense against the encroaching tide. The waves were gentler here, as if they too had grown tired from their journey to this quiet corner. I stood for a while at the edge of the greenery, watching how the sand curved delicately into the water's embrace. The sky stretched above me in layered shades of lavender and blue, its clouds drifting lazily as if they had nowhere else to be. A few rocks jutted out from the shore like forgotten relics of some ancient story. It all felt like a pause—a moment where time itself had taken a breath.