Almost one year ago, I posted a note about sunburn, which in its annual recurrence demonstrates how resistant I am to learning even the simplest lessons (let alone complexly painful ones having to do with love and selfhood).
This weekend, I spent some time at the beach with Elle Belle. In St. Augustine, FL, a strange city with a stranger transient population of tourists and bikers and hippies and rednecks, I received a pleasant reminder from the universe that I still don’t know anything and that even writing about sunburn will not save me from my stupidity (the same parenthesis applies again: the reflection and analysis of my tendencies in life and love has had little effect on my habits).
My stupidity notwithstanding, it was an excellent time. Above, we are in her friend A’s backyard. Below, additional selected photos from the full set here:
My spartan room at a commune / hostel in Linconville; the absence of sheets made me feel at home.
Henry Flagler, tycoon and developer and city patron.
A week ago, I was wearing my heaviest jacket.
I spent an hour with an old couple who travel the East coast flying their hundreds of kites; the largest here is 100 square feet with two 100 foot tails.
Moss at night.
Little known-facts: Elle is a unicorn, naming a playground space shuttle “Challenger” is considered inspirational, and people make flowers out of other plants and give them to you if you stand around on the beach with a camera long enough.
