Spitfire

It was a cool September afternoon.

We travelled past the Dover cliffs and came to the Battle of Britain memorial, a young aviator staring at the sky, frozen in stone.

Battle of the Brave.

RIP.

Graffiti

The room was small with pale white walls. Sun rays entering the small high window.

In the distance the snow capped Alps.

The cell the Man in the Iron Mask called home.

Graffiti held by the walls.

Ile Ste Marguerite in the dusk of Cannes awakening to the night.