Before the first blush of dawn touched the sleeping village, kerosene lamps flickered awake like fireflies, casting warm honeyed light into thatched roofs. One by one, the silhouettes of men emerged, the rustle of their worn cotton kimonos whispering against the stillness.
They met in hushed murmurs by the weathered boats lining the harbor, exchanging gruff greetings and weathered smiles, their shared purpose etched in the lines on their faces.
With synchronized movements, they hoisted oars and unfurled sails, their vessels dissolving into the mirror-like surface of the bay, chasing the silver promise of the unknown catch.
By the time the first tendrils of sunlight gilded the horizon, painting the sky in hues of burnt sienna and apricot, the fishermen were returning, their boats bobbing like laden baskets on the gentle swells.