The horizon does not ask for permission from corporate masters before it bathes the world in the warm light of a brand new dawn.
The sharp, cracking sound of breaking ice echoed across the entire waterfront as the first warm spring wind blew softly over the towering granite cliffs. The thick white sheets that had locked the inner basin in a frozen grip for months were rapidly dissolving into gentle, drifting slush under the brilliant morning sun. Sarah Vance stood on the main wooden pier, her winter coat left open as she felt the sweet, humid air releasing the wooden fishing fleet from its long winter rest. Beside her, the dock workers were already singing traditional coastal songs, their voices bright with a frantic, joyful energy as they cleared the remaining frost off the wooden decks.
