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Author with incurable wanderlust. Squeezing words out of a fountain pen. Veteran. Husband. Passable knife work with pretty good mise.

Just below the walk, under Apollo’s Gate, there is a small beach at the edge of the protected cove. You walk down steps into the Mediterranean and float on your back looking up at the ancient ruin. It is calm and serene until the Blue Star Ferry arrives, the captain swinging the ship 180 degrees, sliding gracefully to just the edge of the dock, a few moments later the waves created flood the walk with a mini-tsunami, drenching items not placed at an appropriate altitude. …

For the past twelve weeks, a pair of falcons chose to perch on the glass wall at the top of the building across the street. They were young. And like all new residents of the city, eager, full of hope, and content with what they had.

During the day I would see one or the other perched on the top of the glass waiting for their opportunity to do what they do best. Because, like the rest of us, that is why they are here. I thought they were kestrels. They didn’t quite look like peregrines. But I’ve never seen…

Dream display. L.E.A.F exhibit, Meatpacking District, New York City © Photo by John Harbour, all rights reserved.

The city wraps its arms around you and welcomes you to walk its streets. Timeless and untouched by modern war, it is a holiday weekend to the 18th century. To sit on the edge of the main square, near where Kafka was born, and look across to the ham man minding Prague Ham on the spit, is to look across time itself; to walk the streets of the Jewish ghetto and visit the Spanish Synagogue and learn of the genesis of Golem; to sit in a cafe, enjoying a beer and roasted pork knuckle; to watch the figures move during…

The Willowemoc off of Debruce Road. © Photo by John Harbour, all rights reserved.

Fields of Sun. Saint-Remy, France. © Photo by John Harbour, all rights reserved.

Crashing wave, Malibu, California, USA © Photo by John Harbour, all rights reserved.

John Harbour

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