-30. Silent harbor, photo essay by Serge Ius
Gulp of snow for breakfast, fog for dinner and spoon of salt water for supper.
Somewhere along the road, there was a crossroad.
I turned without hesitating. Without turning around.
Knowing the only trace of my tracks would dissolve in the fog.
The soul grows dump and the beating of my heart is in my ears.
Salt on my lips and smell of diesel fuel in the air.
Here I was born…
The ghost of a ship wants to talk with me.
I kept silent. I heard a howl.
The roar of a ship. Then still.
Ice on eyelashes, my bones are frozen.
Here was a storm.
The seagulls that gathered on an ice floe disappeared,
With them I.
Here I was born. (Serge Ius)