Inês Follows the Blue Tile — At first light, while the tile shop smelled of wet clay and lemon soap, Inês slid one blue square into her pocket. Read the full story →
At first light, while the tile shop smelled of wet clay and lemon soap, Inês slid one blue square into her pocket. She had made herself a challenge: reach the old river tower before the first rooster call, touch the tile to its stones, and come home before the shutters creaked open. The streets were still cool under her shoes. A baker sweeping flour from his step whispered, “Mind the tide.”
Beyond the tram tracks, the river breathed salt into the morning. Inês paid her small price at the quay: a wave slapped the stones and soaked one sock, cold as a fish. She kept walking anyway, past bobbing sailboats and gulls that sounded like squeaky hinges. Near the tower, a proud Barcelos rooster stood where no rooster should stand, its painted hearts bright in the soft gray air. It pecked once at her pocket.
The tile was not for the tower after all. Inês placed it into a missing spot in the walkway, where thousands of feet would pass without noticing, and the rooster crowed warm and round. When she returned, her wet sock squeaked across the shop floor, but the room felt wider, as if the river had followed her home. Next time you find the little blue square by the tower, you’ll know why morning began with wet clay and lemon soap.
