All views expressed are my own. The Anticlimatic Social Experience of a Deaf Young Teen.

Just stop and look around. Outdoor shooting with Xristos and Thodoris.

So explains me the meaning of the word.

Who among us is not. A hollow space, prayers. And the shocking light of dawn? There was a child in Florence. His hair a vine of blackened split rope. Woven in knots, brushed back. His face was a moon,. White, smooth, often in shadow. As he hurried the familiar cobbled route. From the Mercado Centrale,. Carrying bread for the week. And a few precious pieces of salted meat. She waited, knowing her only son.

I plan to write about and enter photos of all that but meanwhile I am going back to the earlier time soon after we moved down to sw Victoria. Linlithgow, lovely lake, well once it was,. To this place closer to needy son in Adelaide. Yet not too far from Melbourne.