A traveller arrives by ferry at dawn and walks through a town that hasn't woken up yet. The speaker peers into windows hoping to spot someone, but finds only the wind slipping through the wooden cracks and the water knocking against the reef. Those sounds make the quiet feel even bigger.
The speaker first thinks of the place as a ghost town, with its coloured flags strung along the main lane, yet then admits to feeling at home. That small turn is the heart of the poem: what looks empty turns out to be welcoming. The final stanza explains the stillness. It's Sunday, and people have gathered indoors. Outsiders can only guess at what they're doing, whether casting a spell or simply sharing smiles. The mood is calm, curious and gently warm, with a hint of mystery that never turns sinister.