Yesterday we made a quick visit to Loiba. The tide was unusually low, and that opened the doors to corners that are normally hidden under the restless sea. The sky was quiet, almost featureless, so instead of lifting my gaze I decided to look down, to what the ocean had left behind when it retreated.
The pools were alive: carpets of different algae creating spiraled tangles of life. Among them, limpets and periwinkles clung to the rocks, and the water reflected a monolith rising like a colossal fang against the horizon.
I wanted to play with that symmetry —the submerged rock covered in seaweed in the foreground and, beyond, the stone fang that seems to pierce the sky. Two worlds connected by water and by the fleeting light of the evening.
Not every day gives you blazing skies, but sometimes the true magic lies at your feet, waiting for you to notice.