Dusk greets the tip of the hook

On a quiet rocky beach, dusk begins to touch the horizon line with golden orange color. The sea is wavy slowly, as if calm in the slow time rhythm. A fishing rod is stuck between black stones, standing still like a silence guard, waiting with patient gestures from the seabed.

An anglers stand far at the end of the water, his body silhouette looks small compared to the extent of the sea and sky. He did not speak, just staring at the place where his hook had disappeared on the waves that gently swept the stone's legs. In the distance, a lighthouse stands firmly, being a silent witness for every fisherman and pedestrians who have stopped at this beach.

That day, no matter the fish came or not, what was present was peace. The atmosphere seemed to invite anyone to be silent for a moment, listen to the whisper of nature, and feel intact in peace that cannot be explained words. When the sun slowly sinks, the golden light touches the fishing rod, as if giving it a new hope: that in waiting, there is always beauty.