The stall, in the shade of the buoys

The port awakens. On the limestone paving stones of the quay, the baskets from the night are placed side by side, the scales regain their morning weight. The fishmonger raises her voice, the oyster scutcher adjusts her apron, and the sound of the cries rises toward the village that keeps watch up above, sheltered by the umbrella pines. At the end of the jetty, the lighthouse has spent the night; it can now fall silent. Market day begins.