It was Puerto Rico, and the passion for all things its people hold dear was palpable. I was on a mountain top in an abandoned structure that overlooked the city of Ponce. I had become deeply engrossed in creating photographs with two women, one born and raised on the sea and love and rich history of La Isla Del Encanto; the other shaped by the colorful, uninhibited, and tantalizing culture of Brazil. Each had flowing raven hair caressed gently by ocean breezes, butterscotch skin, and their dark eyes sparkled. Their nubile bodies, a product of their self-respect and hard work and discipline, and both were sensual and powerful and beautiful, and the camera had fallen deeply in love. I raced with the sunset to capture their images as the world was painted with a deep and golden glow precious moments before the sun faded into the sea.
And then it was over.
As I carefully packed the camera gear, lost in my memories of the day, a pulsing sound began to rise from the city below. Ana stepped close to the edge as if drawn by something mystical as a solitary beating drum became another, and then many. The sky was painted with color, the view breathtaking, and the warm evening air was humid and thick with music and beauty. And for a time we stood together, and alone, lost in our thoughts as the hypnotic beat from below carried our souls to a place so far from home.