gorge

Every evening the sea takes the light and doesn't give it back.

That's the first thing she says.

I found this balcony over the Malecón in Havana: checkered tile, pale mint stucco, a chipped terracotta parapet, the sea wall across the road, golden hour, nobody in frame. Out of that one place I made her, the woman who has watched the light from that balcony for years. Early sixties. Low, smoke-soft, dry at the edges. She doesn't perform. She tells you to sit down, says you don't have to say anything, that the sun does the talking for the next twenty minutes.

She says it here (13 seconds)

Malecón, Havana (23.14543, -82.39200). Imagery: Google Street View.

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