66, Cape Vidal

No, 66 Cape Vidal is not an address. 66 is the age I turned yesterday; Cape Vidal, or somewhere like it – open skies, wide open spaces, carefree and at ease like the geezer with his fishing rod – is where I should have been on my birthday. Needless to say, I wasn’t. Just another day down the salt mine.

But we did go out for dinner, Rob and I, and if we were not at the sea, exactly, we did dine on crustaceans, and talk about our upcoming trip to France, which starts next weekend, and where we should go to eat when we stopover in Lyon, and what we should do during our four days in Istanbul. Not a bad problem to have, actually, and one of the things that the salt mine pays for.

Which is to give notice, I guess, that there will be a break in this blog from now until late August, when a new series of photographs will start finding its way onto these pages.

Meanwhile, picture yourself, as I do, poised between beach and sky, at the edge of the ocean, with time itself stretched out to the horizon.

[As always, click on the image to enlarge.]