Curacao
The sun was so hot it kissed the skin in steaming whispers.
Across the glittering aqua was a flat wooden platform tied to an invisible moor, designed as a respite for basking, burning, gazing at the others steaming on the shore.
I was there for work; there was no time to delight in cool water and scalding sun. But I watched it and dreamed of a time when my time would be my own.
Something about the heat unfolding flat, spread out over the water, something searing in its freedom. Burning the skin free.
The children's voices were flattened by the heat, they sounded close to the sand, close to the ears.
The waves hardly crashed amid the blinding sun.