The table is empty.
The window is open. There is a patch of blue.
An open book lies besides a glass of wine on a side shelf.
A golden light pours out from a door. A candle burns in another room.
The air is clean. The sails inflate and deflate with the breathing of the breeze.
The sea is cold, and its waters shine clean and blue under the sail boats.
Her body sits, straight on the chair. She wears a white hat and a blue dress. Her lips are half open as if a smile had just flown away from her mouth.
A seagull cuts the air with its silvery wings. It flies away slowly, and its distant cries fade as its wings take it far away.