When the catch arrives
Just before sunrise, the fishing boats arrive. The air carries the mixed smell of salt, fuel, and the night’s catch.
Then everything accelerates. A fleet of coracle boats approaches, women step into the shallows, expectations high.
Once the catch reaches the riverbanks, mayhem begins. The screaming is deafening. Hands point, weigh, refuse, insist. Bargaining is relentless, and at times fights break out.
In the final image, an old woman stands apart, staring at the structure of a bridge, still incomplete. Its presence interrupts the horizon. Change is imminent.
When the bridge was finished, only a few boats arrived each day. The shouting ceased. The shore fell silent.
