Causeway-side walk on a windy afternoon
Wind off the causeway has a personality: impatient, salty, slightly rude to umbrellas. I walk the waterfront path when the block feels too enclosed — a horizontal reset.
Ship lights blink in a language I do not speak. Motorcycles cross the link with steady patience. Families pose for photos they will forget to download.
I do not walk for fitness metrics. I walk until my shoulders drop. The path is wide enough to let thoughts pass each other without collision.
A vendor sells bottled water and trust. I buy one even when I am not thirsty because small commerce at the edge of a country feels worth supporting.
Turning back, the flats rise like stacked ledgers. Home is visible but not close. That middle distance is where this note lives.