Those half tide hours, either side of low water, see Roscoff Vieux Port at its most scenic: Brightly coloured boats, blue waters, black weed, draped over brown granite sinews.
The stone built Breton buildings, rugged and rough hewn as their surroundings, watch the daily ebb and flow, rise and fall, reveal and refill. Mandated by the moon's orbit. The tides dependable as a metronome.
Clouds flit across a fast changing sky. From which sunbeams and rain showers fall, in equal measure. The breeze comes and goes, like a proud Bédouin. Dancing to no one’s tune, but it’s own. As the season settles.
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