That little shed looks like it's waiting for a ferry that’s never coming.

The sky stretched wide over the harbor, its blue so sharp it seemed to cut through the quiet. Across the water, the bridge stood firm like a sentinel, while the old warehouses on this side whispered stories of a time when they bustled with life. The air smelled faintly of salt and sun-warmed stone. I wandered closer to the edge of the pier, where even the shadows seemed to rest lazily in the afternoon heat. A lone dinghy drifted past, its occupant too small to disturb this vast expanse of calm. I wondered briefly if these old walls ever missed their noisy past or if they had grown to love this silence.