The palm tree seems to be waving goodbye to the sun.

The path curved gently ahead, its edges softened by shadows cast from the towering palm trees. The air carried a faint tang of salt that seemed to sharpen as I neared the railing. Across the shimmering water, a tall ship drifted with an almost theatrical grace—its masts cutting clean lines against the golden sky. A lone figure walked past me, their silhouette merging briefly with the tree’s shadow before disappearing further down the path. I paused to watch as the light played tricks on the surface of the harbor; it was hard to tell where water ended and sky began. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the low hum of an approaching ferry. It felt like everything here had its own rhythm—unhurried but deliberate.