As winter peaks in through my window , I am drawn to memories of summers past. I remember this abandoned pink house in Palamós, on the Costa Brava of Spain. Every morning on my way to the sea I would walk past half naked tourists and children. There, on the edge of a small cliff lived this house. I would have wanted to live there, stay there forever warm, aloof and tender, just like those shadows. There was no past, there was no future, just that moment. I had no phone on me, guilting me into reporting back to another world. I only had my 35mm cannon film camera and mediterranean salt on my skin. After a day of sun kisses, mixed with catalonian cheese and wine… A full moon arose , “jump in the water! Its warm!” he said, I was afraid to swim inside the dark waves, though their meditative calmness was alluring. I placed my feet inside , placed some water on my hair, a form of ritual , a bath of moon. That was enough for me that night. When I closed my eyes I could feel a dance of emotions , scars of sleepless sand, the sinking sea inside.