Pablo could see the clouds very clearly, in the pool in the rocks and then he could see a strange shape, like a straight shape reflecting from the clouds. He looked up to the sky, and he couldn't see these straight shapes.

Strange he thought maybe it was a beam from an old hut on top of the rocks

Maybe not

The mast of an old ship that has been smashed against the rocks, where the sailors had scrambled up the rocks like him on this Shipwreck Coast

He looked back into the pond and still saw the straight shape. And he turned around to his left. And he could see a large straight post beside the rocks, and on top of the rocks there was a platform. And the large post was stretching up into the air. And on top of the post was a sign with the point to the end of it.

The sign said: Leonardos Lighthouse.

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His heart was beating so deeply. He felt like a dog. He was panting and couldn't catch his breath. Trying to slow down. Tried to slow down. He couldn't. His mind was racing, his heart was beating, his thoughts were spinning.

He looked down and saw a small crab sitting in a pool, a tiny pool in the rocks. He closed and opened his eyes. He would focus on the crab.

He tried to slow his breath down with a slow box breath. Breathing in, 1-2-3-4. Holding his breath, 1-2-3. Releasing his breath, 1-2-3-4. Use the little crab. He looked at the crab and made it a focus point while he began to slow his breath. Breathe, he told himself. Breathe, 1-2-3. Slowly managed to slow his breath down.

When he looked at the pool the little crab was in, you could see the clouds reflected in the pond.

Past the little crab was a much larger pool, and this had a much larger, clearer reflection in the water

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He was close to the rocks, and he could see the surface. The light from the surface changed quickly up and down as the waves were rising quickly up against the rocks. And then he saw it.

The rope. Then again the rope appeared at this time, for some reason. He reached out and grabbed it. He could feel coral wrapped around the rope. He pulled tight, and the rope stopped moving. It stayed taut.

It was tight. It was attached to something; he didn't know what.

He pulled on the rope, and he used it to pull himself up out of the water as he smashed into the rocks, bruised the side of his arm, and scraped his elbow. He wrapped his arm around the rope tight and pulled himself up onto a large rock and looked down at the rope, which had tangled around a large piece of wood, a large piece of wood that was wedged within the rocks.

He looked behind him, and he could see a huge wave. He quickly climbed up the next step of rocks before the wave crashed into the rocks, coming up underneath out of the rocks and lifting the piece of wood up and the rope up out of the rocks and sweeping it back out to the ocean among the seaweed.

He looked out into the ocean to try and see the shark. It was gone, along with the timber and the piece of rope.

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Pablo moved away from the shark as quickly and quietly as he could. He knew he needed to stay calm. He understood that he shouldn't make any sudden movements. No frantic paddling.

He also knew his other option was to maximize his size, that if the shark was passing by, if he stayed vertical and looked as large as possible. But he was not thinking of that just right now.

And he knew he needed to keep watching it, and if the shark turned towards him, he would have to face it.

He needed to keep watching, always watching it. And if it moved, rotate his body to stay facing it.

But at this time, he was getting away as quickly as he could, sensing the rocks somehow near.

A piece of plastic got in his way. A large plastic bag. It was huge. It was blue.

And he could now not see how close this shark was. This plastic bag almost cost him his life. A shark could see Pablo, but he could not see the shark.

The water was suddenly a mix of cold and then warm currents, with the current below mixing together with the warmth of the top from the surface.

A large piece of seaweed brushed the back of his hair. He shivered and felt an electric pulse through his body. That was adrenaline.

That could normally be followed by fear, but he knew he could not let the fear rise up.

He told himself that he felt like he was about to panic, but he knew he could not panic.

Panic led to bad decisions. These things he knew.

Use the adrenaline, he thought. Use the adrenaline to propel him up, towards the surface.

He knew he could also get to rocks on his left side, but he did not know where they were.

The journey continues next episode.

Something like a rope passed him again.

It was not tied to anything. It was floating.

It moved slowly, back and forward, like seaweed.

Pablo watched it for a moment. It did not feel dangerous.

He reached out and pushed the rope away from his body. He pushed it to the side so he could start to go up.

His breath was running out. His chest felt tight.

He needed to go back to the surface.

Then he saw more of it.

Not all at once.

At first, it was only a shape. A grey shape moving in the water.

It did not look like a rope anymore.

It looked like skin.

That was when he understood.

It was a shark.

He dived down hard to get away.

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Pablo had only learned to swim recently. He was in his early twenties.

It took him a long time. He worked full time. He also had a part-time job.

That day, he swam out from the shore and dived down. He wanted to see the rocks he had heard about under the water.

He did not know how deep the ocean was there. Even close to land, it could be very deep.

He felt like he was about five meters down. He did not look up at the surface.

Something touched the back of his leg.

It frightened him, but he kept going.

The seaweed was large. It felt thick, like kelp. It brushed past the tattoo on his leg.

He could not see the end of it.

He still had not found the rocks.

This is one story in a series of short listening pieces, made for calm, focused listening.

Perhaps he thought when he got home he could hang his wooden spoons up, although at the moment they were sitting in a great big blue jar—which seemed to be the right place, as then he could just grab them beside the air fryer, you know, that kind of thing, when he was cooking on the run.

This was making him hungry now, thinking about all these wooden spoons and the boat made of wooden spoons. He was thinking about dinner. Maybe he could have some nice pasta with some garlic and some black pepper, vegetables, and maybe some olives. He might be able to put some tuna in there too, and he may also have had some fresh herbs, which were also given to him by the woman who lived upstairs, Silvia.

You don't need to understand every word. Let the sounds settle, and notice what you follow naturally.

Some of these stories drift for a while, and then arrive somewhere familiar — a kitchen, a walk, or a quiet moment between tasks.

After his swim, Pablo decided that he was going to sit down and do some writing. And when he sat down, he suddenly remembered that he had a dream the other night about a boat, and the boat was made from wooden spoons.

Why would a boat be made of wooden spoons? That was an interesting idea. They must have been all glued together because the boat was bobbing along quite well in the water, and there was a small crew of sailors sitting in the boat having a lively chat.

What were they talking about? He wondered. He hadn't remembered that part of the dream. Was the discussion about coming to land or whether they had just left a big sailing boat and were heading out somewhere, or whether they were heading for land.

Not heading for the Li Galli Islands, he hoped—where enchanting songs lure passing sailors.

No, perhaps they were going to the land of the Wooden Spoons, where they grew trees for the Wooden Spoons.

He wondered where the wooden spoon first came from. He only had a few wooden spoons, two or three, and each one of them he loved dearly.

One of his wooden spoons had been given to him by a friend when she returned from somewhere far away, a small country he had never heard of. Another one was given to him by the woman who lived upstairs—the old woman who sometimes reads the cards. That spoon had a great big wide head and was made from a very beautiful dark timber.

And the other one, he couldn't quite remember where that one came from. That one he thought he picked up at a store that was closing down that was selling pots and all kinds of things, and they had lots of beautiful Chinese woks and other things. He could afford just one wooden spoon on his way home, and that one was very long and thin and made of very light white timber.

Learn English with Cullen is an Australian podcast that has been recognised at the Australian Podcast Awards and listened to around the world for many years.

The episodes use short, calm listening exercises and original stories — including the ongoing Pablo series — to help learners develop natural English thinking.

With over 175 episodes available on Apple Podcasts and other major platforms, this work continues quietly, one small piece at a time.

From here on, new episodes are released on Apple Podcasts.

The Lite Library: https://earthlight.gumroad.com/l/lite-library

A short fragment as the show rolls out on Apple Podcasts.