Katerina Cosgrove

Lining the quay are stalls selling sponges. Beneath them the water, still clear and blue, although it is nearly autumn, laps at the stone pier. In the late afternoon light the sponges seem to take on the luminous gold of sun-dappled water, much, I think, as they would have looked under the sea. Tourists finger them expectantly, as if half wanting to find them alive, soft, their thousand open-mouthed pores sucking in and out the golden air like liquid. I, … Read More