287/365 06/05/2026

Every day we watched the ships. Every day we sat on the small dock papa had built and watched the ships move through the deep channel cut by men and machines into the channel’s bottom. They loomed, towering like buildings from the city center. Red and black. Blue and black. Yellow and black. They bristled with cargo, containers bigger than our hut stacked one atop another the length of the ship. I wondered how many huts the ship cold carry. Dozens, easily. Hundreds. Thousands? The size of them made me dizzy and I always lost count.