And; I know. If you’re thinking “Who the hell goes to the beach in Canada on the last week of December?”, then two things:
1. You clearly haven’t been following me long enough; I do this kind of stuff all the time.
2. It was the warmest day of the week, it wasn’t bad.
My first stop was in the marshlands. They had this tower you could go up and look out from the top of. The sky was mostly overcast, with bits of blue peeking through. And the clouds were moving FAST.It has rained the night before; which meant that every trace of anything having ever walked on the beach before was erased. It felt like walking on the moon. In the direction the wind was coming from, a thin slice of gold lit up the sky… Knowing I was truly alone; I let music fill me as I walked. @ jboogiejustin filtered in my earbuds, syncopated with the sounds of the surf and the buffering of the wind.
The coastline was golden and inviting, but dipping my hand in revealed it was anything but. Maybe if I had some heated towels and warms arms waiting for me in the car, I might have risked a swim. But not this time.
The clouds churned as I walked; the band of gold growing wider and wider. I headed south along the beach, knowing it could take me forever. I wasn’t going to get another workout today, so I walked until I got tired.I found a heavy log nestled among some dune cliffs, and sat to meditate as the light grew.As I sat, the light exploded around me as the sun shot through the opening in the clouds. Instantly everything felt warmer, and I closed my eyes, basking in its glow. This shot is completely unedited; the colours are exactly as they were. The sun wasn’t long for this hemisphere; and though this was its first appearance of the day, it was ready to rest. The wind picked up, sending waves chopping upward as the sun lit them. The log was cold all alone, so I left it.It seemed impossible to take a bad photo at this point, nearly everywhere I went seemed stunning. Walking back took much longer, I kept stopping to drink everything in.As the sun crested the horizon, the water grew dark and glassy, a mirror refracting the dark swirling clouds above.As I crossed the dunes, the magic faded behind me, and the sky drew dusky. A rustling caught my attention as I pulled my earbuds out. A red heart lay tangled in the branches of some driftwood. The air grew cold and crisp. I breathed deep and walked on.
Timothy Caughman, a Black man, was slain in New York City by a white supremacist from Baltimore. Two communities gather to honour Caughman in very different ways.
I went out to take pictures.
People gather to remember in Hampden (where the white supremacist murderer lived) to remember Timothy Caughman.
On the tail end of the original Baltimore Ceasefire weekend, a man is killed in West Baltimore
During the reading of the names at the end of the Baltimore Ceasefire weekend, Barry Lee’s name was the last to be read. His mother requested we attend his vigil in West Baltimore.
We later discovered he had been out to Cease Fire events.
We gather, slowly, a combination of family and Baltimore Ceasefire members to remember Barry Lee.
More family arrive for the vigil, spelling out Barry Lee’s name in candles.
