Woman with Net Shielded from the blazing late morning Sun by the boat’s citrine sail, the woman mends her husband’s fishing net. The work is hard, the day is hot already. The usual sea breeze is conspicuously absent this morning, no relief is offered from the heat. Sweat beads up on her broad brow as she interlaces the loose strands and binds them tight. Raising a forearm, she swipes the sweat aside before it grows heavy and runs down into her face stinging her warm hazel eyes. She looks toward the sea for relief. On such days she often wades into the bay to cool off, but not on this morning. Jellyfish have invaded the waters with their stinging nematocysts, as they do every year late in the summer, making bathing off limits for a week or so until they are whisked away by the current. Taking a short break she sips cool water from a small cistern she stores in the shade beneath the bench she sits on. After slaking her thirst she leans forward and bows her head toward the weathered deck of the ship and carefully pours the water down the nape of her neck letting it flow forward through her walnut hair and over her face. With the sea temporarily out of the question, the cistern’s water provides the only relief to be had. She shakes her head, water flies from her short, clipped hair, runs down her nose, drips off of her chin and onto her tunic. Temporarily pardoned from the growing heat she returns to the net. It is nearing noon as the woman approaches the final row of meshed loops. She laughs to herself watching a short-haired mutt trot down the shoreline with a chicken leg clenched tightly in its smiling mouth. A little boy trails far behind the piebald dog begging for his lunch to be returned. She takes her eyes off of the net and glances out toward the gentle, teal bay and then gasps in pain. Ruby droplets fall from the palm of her hand staining her melon tunic as her worn and raw fingers find a small, cruel hook snagged in the coarse twine. She smiles nonetheless knowing that this net will feed her family.