“We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch – we are going back from whence we came.” (J. F. Kennedy)
I like the grain in the above photographs. low light and low battery. silence of home. washing machine the only sound; and the dogs barking. wine in a fat big glass. windless. seawater appears to be dead but you know it’s lying. breathing and moving underneath. a world down there that the living cannot experience even if sitting turkish style at the seabed. I sit alone sipping my wine thinking if there is no place like the underwater; there’s no place like home on this earth.
home is a time but it never passes away.
something to read: one, two.
September 28, 2011