“There they are,” screeched my sister Lilly, jumping up and down, and teetering close to the edge of the embankment.
Her sandal-clad feet slipped on the large granite stones, the only hard surface before the flowing river below, as it sliced the village in two before escaping towards the sea.
Once I was sure she was finally stable on land and was not likely to join the waters below, I turned my gaze towards the sea. Sure enough, I spotted the first of the fishing boats making its way upriver and riding along with the tide towards the stone bridge that joined the east side of the village to the west.
I screwed up my eyes to see if could make out the small colourful triangular flags that usually flapped along the rope descending the mainsail, announcing a successful catch.
“Look!” cried Lilly getting all excited again, “wow, the second one’s got loads of flags.”
She had already spotted the second boat following in the wake of the first one, and sure enough, there were dozens of bright flags flapping away. Lilly has sharper eyes than I do, but I would not let her have all the credit today.
Then I caught sight of a third boat still out at sea closing in on the second one, and I too shouted out eager to join in the spotting competition. “Just look at all those flags along the rope, the third one’s going to win, I bet you!”
As so, on they came, boat after boat. I must have counted at least six returning to the harbour to unload their catch. Lilly was fretting about getting over the bridge to the other side. She pulled me by the sleeve, and without another word broke into a run towards the bridge, dragging me along in her wake.