travelling: Grado

It has been a sun and water week.

Sun Island.

tourist setting nevertheless, so you cannot avoid the hordes with their screaming, the overload of german

language in a non-german country, the animation troupe, where each face so openly confesses, that any job would be better than this one, if one would just look close enough.

Sun Island.
Grado.

The town itself almost pittoresque, more adriatic than italian.

The Grado image still one of good old times, where bikinis just started to become accepted, the beachhuts on the 2 € beach memories of technicolor times.
and just for a single moment I can understand why you would buy a 700 € Missoni-dress.

Sun Island.
Sandy beaches with life.
Not just the touristic one with half-naked bodies on towels and in water.
But aquatic one, crabs just one touch away from your toes.
Or your fingers.

Sun and heat.
And bodies, faces, shapes, even the shallowest,

ignite lust.

Lust

for ocean dew

for lust

for lips upon lips

for music under night skies.

It took three days for the water spell to catch me.

It took sitting alone in the night next to the water, music in the ear,

to wash away

a bit

of myself.

Or wash ashore

a bit

of myself.

And yet,

it needs a tornado to animate me
with

a bit of life.

Sisters of fate are

seductive sirens to sleep with.

The tornado came

I did not know it

I did not see it

I felt the storm

while the tornado passed behind my back.

|| verified storm, seen it myself, unverified tornado, unless you see it

or read it

I turn around.

A sun and water week.

A week of kids’ laughter and elimination of time and distance.

In Daylight.

Anything but time and distance.

At midnight.

Coming back

and I sit

between time

between distance

between water and sun.

images | a few