To Echo Cuba Itself

From above, the boat feels less like a vessel and more like a thought caught midstream, something suspended between what was once illuminated and what now remains uncertain. In this way, it begins to echo Cuba itself, held between a past that still glows and a future that has yet to fully reveal itself.

The two men turn toward the lighter water, their bodies angled not toward where they are going, but toward where they have been. That brightness~open, legible, almost forgiving~feels like memory, or perhaps belief, something once held with clarity. It lingers there, just out of reach, not demanding to be reclaimed, only refusing to disappear.

At the bow, a single fish rests, distinct, solitary, carrying a quiet weight. Behind it, near the stern, smaller fish lie scattered, less pronounced, yet undeniably present. The balance feels uneven, as if attention and consequence do not fall equally, as if what is singular can somehow overshadow what is many.

Meanwhile, the boat continues forward into the darker water ahead. The surface offers no warning, no clear threshold, only a gradual deepening, as if the future is not something waiting in the distance, but something already underway, unfolding beneath them without announcement. And still, no one turns to face it.

It is this quiet discord that feels most telling: a movement into the unknown paired with an unwillingness to look directly at it. Not out of denial, but out of something more human~a fragile attachment to what once felt certain, to what once was promised.

And so the journey carries on, gently but inevitably, into that deepening unknown while those aboard keep their eyes fixed on what Cuba once believed itself to be.

Abrazos!