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I can barely imagine what it looked like back then: sparsely populated, rolling hills of dry sour grass, small wooden houses with kitchens and tanks as extensions, thatched galvanized roofs, pineapple skirts on mothers, schooner filled harbours, wharf-less shores.
Read MoreThrough this controlled retreat into the past, I explore the fragments of souls given voice again to reflect on territory, on the encircling salt that courses through veins, and on the ever slowly travelling being back and forth wondering and wandering within waves.
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