Wednesday, January 16, 2013

farewell, my atlantic

I've licked her salt from my lips in Rhode Island, and ran off with her enamel offerings in my pockets— and Ragan, remember that black night when we watched the horseshoe crabs? Their smooth armour, shining in the moonlight— we were witnessing the stuff of myths, our toes sinking in the sand.

The Atlantic is in my blood. My great-great-great grandad was a Danish sea captain, and named his daughters after the seven seas.

We walked along the barnacle-encrusted tide pools that December day— Pedro counting birds and I, spying on anemones and urchins, with one eye on the crashing green waves. I'll be leaving the Portugal posts behind for now, with this last collection of photographs from the edge of a continent.


dinahmow said...


szaza said...

Thank you :)

Beth said...

Very beautiful. I always love your pictures of the sea - often moodier than your city photos which are filled with color. And what a romantic, your great-great-great granddad!

szaza said...

Thank you, Beth.

I think the sea fills me with a sense of longing... not sure what for, but perhaps that comes out in the images. Perhaps I was an albatross in a former life.

Yes, he was a romantic from what I know— and the only sea captain to take his wife and daughters aboard his ship with him while he was at sea!