Morning on the shore

This work is dedicated to my father. He was not a fisherman but his feeling of the sea was rarely delicate and he also deeply loved and appreciated the aesthetics and attributes of this profession. The images of boats and nets on the shore, the deep cobalt of the sea, the complex color of the Azov storm sincerely delighted him, if he could write poetry he would have written, if he was an artist he would have painted, but my father was an agricultural technician, so I had to write the pictures. I did not grow up near the sea, though I was born in the Crimea, my homeland was one of the thousands of similar settlements dotted across the steppe, and my father worked on a collective farm, but it was he who instilled in me a special interest in fishing theme. Though it might be quite an overstatement because it seems to me he just lived his life and sometimes he remembered that he had a son. Anyway I remember well the time when the Sea of Azov was a sea and not a puddle of jellyfish, when it was full of all kinds of fish and there were a lot of boats and fishing crews on the banks. If my father made his way down to the shore, which was about fifteen kilometers from our village, he’d always take me with him whenever possible. He had a lot of friends among the fishermen and I even remember many of them by name, although about thirty years have passed. We mostly came for fresh fish, my father talked with his friends for a long time, and I was left to myself, I either threw rocks into the sea, or chased after seagulls, or ran away from the guard dogs. Sometimes we would rent a boat and after that the catch, in the form of strings of dried fish, would hang in the kitchen, driving the cats crazy. After all, it is true that our personality is formed in childhood, and I always think back to this time with warmth and excitement, thanks to my father, I am like a tuning fork, tuned to a certain tone, I can feel the beauty and harmony in the fishing stories.
The work "Morning on the shore" is dedicated to the past you’d never be able to bring back