I've been sitting on the grey back a limestone boulder in the deafening silence of the Archipelago's late hours, not far from the small pier where the last ferry back to Saltholmen was expected to stop. I have seen the street lights on the opposite island's harbor switching on, like the brightest stars in the sky, as the sunlight was getting dim and the birds were swimming in the shadows like ghosts claiming the ownership on the natural channel in between. I've been lingering whether to stay or jump on the approaching boat, till the roar of a moped running fast across the island wood came to wake me up.
