I vividly remember that makeshift market in an unknown small harbor: everything was sun, sea, light, the acrid smell of salt and sweat, the lapping of the waves, and the cries of seagulls.
A child in search of toys, I wandered curiously among the empty crates used by fishermen as minimal stalls. I knew nothing of the world, yet I could feel on my skin, as if it were part of the air itself, the dignity of those men who sold shells as if they were jewels. And they truly were! Not just in my childish eyes, because each shell was a mystery of precision and functionality. Nature accomplishes works that man often tries to imitate in their perfection.