Exuma, September 2016

It is late, late summer, early September and the sounds of Exuma fill the house with those dark recollections of our sordid past without any apology: no celebration, no condemnation, only expression and release. We are dirty and dark creatures making noises in the night and raging against the light. We are conflicted warriors and reluctant mothers but when we are soaked deep in the history of who we are, we become something else, almost feral, almost wild but by the grace of some larger thing, we are more. We exist in this twilight space and we do not know if the sun is coming or going, forever

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