Acres of petrol blue sky lay before me, dot to dot bays scatter the coastline. I stumble. laden with sizable paper rolls, to the nesting booth in Scalloway. A sea legged desire for silence, solitude, simplicity. Sleeping to the sounds of the waves lapping at the wall while waking to the suns glistening reflection. The day cuts through order, routine, habit. I bathe in moonlight and watch the boats slip away and back to the harbor, soundlessly through liquid mercury.