an hour before dinner

Mondays are usually dreadful.  Adding an activity to look forward to at the end of the day makes it a little bit bearable.

If only there was lighting in the courtyard, there would be less grumpy people in the neighborhood.

A boat sits on its dock.  The fisherman empties it of water from the afternoon downpour and talks about stolen fish nets, debts and his sick child.  It’s the usual sad tale and I’m counting my blessings.

It’s the children’s job to play.

on a roll..

The weary rests.

“Then you listen to the music
And you like sing along
You want to get the meaning
Out of each and every song
Then you find yourself a message
And some words to call your own
And take them home” – Bread

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• September 8, 2015
• streets of Tacloban
• 23 Comments