took nothing but my camera and headed off to the beach. there, like in many other places along the atlantic coastline, a long stretch of sand and grass separates a dense pine forest and the shore. bare foot, I can feel the cold sand beneath the grass; above, two seagulls twist and turn like peaceful aircrafts. on a small hill sits an old blockhaus, silent relic of the war, today attacked only by time. it's become a tradition, to climb the stone and watch the sun disappear, and later at night, the milky way. to feel the warmth of dusk on our skin.