At the very bottom of the lagoon's waters, where the light blue turns into dusty gray quiet vaults, life boils violently among the bizarre multi-colored coral thickets. This is the life of thousands of little souls unaware of the greatness and infinity of the world. As if each of us, immersed in our own inner circle of people and concerns.
In a thicket of coral thickets, endless zigzags, bends and cracks intertwine, gently flying into the mysterious dusty sandy structure of the bottom.
As if writhing, an elaborate swirling procession of folds and dents, funnels and stripes stretches, mixing under the golden rays of the sun setting somewhere far above the water and dissolving in silver sand dust.
So the softness of the flowers of coral, sanguine, carmine, pink like the tenderness of the cheeks and lips of a young girl are intertwined with shades of gray and beige, dusty rose, pearls and gold like a tension of the neck and shoulders, like a sharp turn of the head to a sudden call.
The language of nature is always close to the human soul.