The island of lost ships

Tyazhelokamenny drew a gloomy village in the sea nearly eyeless facades. The main street - like a balcony along the waterfront, below the balcony - the cliffs and surf. Here and there an array of buildings cut through incredibly narrow streets, on the corner of which stand with their flocks of black women in needlework. At the sight of me, they suddenly disappear as if dissolved in the darkness between the walls. Will pass - they are once again on his favorite spot. His hands deep in his pockets, standing, smoking fishermen. Clapped his cap to the ears, face some kind of standard - all on the island more or less close relatives. In the quiet streets, whose width is calculated as if the maximum of the fact that you can ride a barrel down to meet me come across more fishermen. They carry their catch - ugly hairy spider crabs with legs spotted spiny lobsters, rays of flat mucosa. Although the terms of the sea, the main problem on the island - water. In the town the well is brackish, so here are collected in a rainwater tank with slate roofs. Soil of the island, too salty, because of salt and frequent storms, it is not a single tree. But in private yards on all sides can be seen blooming mimosa. The climate is mild in the winter - no snow or ice. On a small vegetable gardens are good yields of potatoes yields: algae - an excellent fertilizer. On the margins of the stranger greeted by barking dogs, lovers of fresh fish. At this scarce island and endless barking bird noise - only the sounds of wildlife. ... Gloomy toothy rocks. And everywhere you look - the remains of the broken ship. That white hull sailing ship, thrown away on the shore. Nose raised high, and it seems - the boat tries to break free. But the sharp stones inexorable. The deck is clean waves aboard places demolished, white shpanty like the ribs of the skeleton. Black holes gaping hole holds. But the nose of what was once a steamboat. At the water's edge - the rusty monster, surrounded by mourning-black seaweed and green stones. Waves could not throw it higher, and it is, ziyaya huge nostrils anchor-hole. On all sides sticking scraps of torn metal, powerful deck pokorezhena. Silently go round red monster, looked inside, where the piled stones. As an artist, I see a wreck sort of picturesque monument. Once upon a strict, symmetrical forms by nature transformed into something jagged, ragged - and yet in their own living ...