With mission one aborted I turned back to a nameless wildlife sanctuary I'd spied on the way in, nameless not because it had no name but because I've already forgotten it. It was last month after all. I hopped the locked gate, always a plus, and walked a rutted path to a discarded homestead with two buildings and a concrete foundation with a rusted water tank. Set in a grassy valley running west toward Laguna Larga the ruins whispered intimate histories into my ears.
Sunday, October 18, 2015
Intimate Histories
With mission one aborted I turned back to a nameless wildlife sanctuary I'd spied on the way in, nameless not because it had no name but because I've already forgotten it. It was last month after all. I hopped the locked gate, always a plus, and walked a rutted path to a discarded homestead with two buildings and a concrete foundation with a rusted water tank. Set in a grassy valley running west toward Laguna Larga the ruins whispered intimate histories into my ears.
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6 comments:
"The ruins whispered intimate histories in my ears" indeed! What a wonderful piece of writing. The last two photographs definitely enchant. The composition of the high foreground water tank and the lower building in the background is magnificent. Despite the fact that you missed Cuba for the season, you certainly returned home with some high, wide, and evocative shots.
Muchas gracias como siempre, chica.
Sorry you missed Cuba, but you did make some pretty fine lemonade, amigo!
There's always next year. Or is there?
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