good vibrations

Flashing forward to the near-past for an entry. Last weekend I went camping with friends Scottie and Andy. We pitched tent on a beach in la Graciosa, a tiny island north of Lanzarote, the most eastward of the Canary Islands. Friday we biked sand trails, passing between large reddish hills and making pit-stops at deserted beaches, occasionally excaliming our excitement towards the paraidise around us. Tired, we came back to the tent and lay on its floor for a nap.

A small writing from that moment:

"The bongos tap-tap, boom-boom in the town over the sand mounds off somewehre to the left. The walls of the tent pop their nylon in and out, wind whapping to the rhythm. I can feel my heart beating across my veins as my leg burns from the sun and muscle-ache. Scottie is passed out, wiped from the day. I see him across, in the other chamber, through and beyond the tipping-in-the-sand boxes and bags of snacks. The wind rustles the tent some more and I drift to sleep, my face warm and settling,"