“I owe the Port d’Andratx, on the west coast of the island, a whole series of experiences that have been interrupted but never forgotten.
Above all I owe it a house close to the see, from where I contemplated, year after year, the breakwater lighthouse and that wide expanse of water at the mouth of the port, which, in the breeze, contained the purity and mystery of the real sea.
Other debts I should mention:
The first splash of a small wave.
Having had breakfast in the days of my youth with the touch of the breeze on my forehead…
Having felt the touch, whether warm or cold, of the venerable seam foam that mystically surrounds the hulls of boats.
Touching the quivering jellyfish on stormy days, when the still water seems sown with violet shadows.
Feelings in the intense September and the falling of exhausted leaves.
Appreciating the murky grey of the port whipped up by the tail of the harvestfish.”