To the beach, and love making again.

A great photographer and wonderful writer.


Been back in city of Mindelo half a week. What was missing in my life? Prayer. I had slipped into a survivalist existence somewhat. Like the fast rising and falling Tropic of Cancer sun, the city, it’s lights, noises, did not seem to offer much in the way of night, morning, day, night transitional space. Similarly, the half hourly strictly regimented bugle calls from the nearby military camp dawn to dusk, the hand of man ( must ) prevail it must seem.

2130h. I could have just sat and sat, but nature called, strongly. Legs were so tired, but I donned my white flip flops and ambled toward the beach just 12 minutes away, with a little slightly scuffed book in my hand.

Moored ships in the bay, dancing sounds from the club along the Praia; all, beach, languid waves, bathed in the light of our many electric suns –…

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