Fifth Journey Day 108: The Boy’s Pause

Date: August 24, 2025
Location: Tripoli, Lebanon

I spent the afternoon near the port. The air felt thick with heat, but the wind from the sea kept it from feeling too intense. Fishing boats moved slowly. Their paint was chipped and softened by years of salt water. I watched men unload crates and tie up ropes. They moved in a steady, skilled way. The gulls circled above, their cries loud against the quiet hum of the city.

I sat on a low wall with my sketchbook open. The pencil moved almost on its own, tracing the way light glanced across the water, how ropes curved with weight, how shadows dissolved on wet stone. My lines felt loose, not precise, more like listening than recording. A boy came close to watch, then left without saying anything. His presence stayed with me — how curiosity can appear and disappear in silence.

The air smelled like fish, diesel, and salt. I realized how the senses blend together here: the sound of water seemed salty, and the sight of light felt warm. Time felt unhurried. I did very little, and in that, I felt I had arrived.

There was no great discovery, only the rhythm of small things — rope against wood, fabric lifted by wind, the steady line of horizon. It made me think that beginnings don't have to be intense. Sometimes they arrive in pauses, in moments of stillness where you notice how the sea continues its work and how the city breathes alongside it.