Antonio sat on the edge of his canoe, grey, grizzled and tired from the day’s fishing. He had been at it all morning and the noon-day sun beat down upon him relentlessly. Sweat glistened and shone and poured down his forehead and arms as he wiped himself with his bare clothing. He gazed far out at an endless grey ocean and an endless grey sky that hovered just above it and at a grey line that divided the two. Sometimes, the sea was blueand the sky would change its mood to match the new hue. Sometimes, there would be other canoes out there in the deep, the fishermen at the helm, casting their nets, bare-shouldered as they struggled to find a good catch.
A Fisherman's Prayer — Joao-Roque Literary Journal est. 2017 | | | | | | | | | | | A Fisherman's Prayer — Joao-Roque Literary Journal est. 2017 By Caroline de Souza Antonio sat on the edge of his canoe, grey, grizzled and tired from the day’s fishing. He ... | | | All best wishes,Selma Carvalho -- *** Please be polite and on-topic in your posts. *** --- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "The Goa Book Club" group. To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to [email protected]. To view this discussion, visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/goa-book-club/552195920.2292807.1744627472806%40mail.yahoo.com.
