Et eneste saltkorn

Sin sidste morgen fløj Polly ud til enden af byen. Der står et lille hvidt fyr ved havet, ved siden af en rund kirke. Herfra lignede byen et skib igen.

On her last morning, Polly flew to the end of the town. A small white lighthouse stands there by the sea, next to a round church. From here, the town looked like a ship again.

Fiskerbådene forlod havnen én efter én. Klokken i tårnet ringede over tagene. På pladsen stod manden med violinen alene i det første lys.

The fishing boats left the harbour one by one. The bell in the tower rang over the roofs. On the square, the man with the violin stood alone in the first light.

Polly kunne stadig smage ét saltkorn. Hav, sol og tålmodige hænder lavede det, på samme måde i mere end syv hundrede år. Saltet byggede denne hvide by.

Polly still tasted one grain of salt. Sea, sun and patient hands made it, the same way for more than seven hundred years. Salt built this white town.

Hun fløj én gang rundt om byen. Så steg hun op på morgenvinden. Stenskibet blev lille bag hende. Havet foran hende var stort og lyst.

She flew once around the town. Then she rose on the morning wind. The stone ship grew small behind her. The sea in front of her was wide and bright.