By Miguel Digón
At that hour, the sky thickens and melts over the sun and over the sea. And the sea, with the solemnity of a ritual, rocks it with its waves until night falls. A night that is life, whose darkness brings calm and, paradoxically, lights up the soul in these last days of summer.
These days I sense that summer is leaving. It isn’t eternal, but it is healing. And not just any place will do for that. From the very first time, Sitges gave me that feeling that comes when a place makes you its own. For three summers now it has been one of my open-air refuges, where the sea, the light and time seem to agree to remind you who you are when nothing weighs you down.
Here, this sky and this sea have become my accomplices. They seek each other out, come together and merge, just like that mother hugging her son as they look out at the horizon. It isn’t a hug of physical strength but of emotional strength, a sincere union like that of the sky and the sea.
The fleeting colours, just a few minutes of brilliance, highlight even more the beauty of Sitges, which has always drawn lovers of light and which, despite tourism, keeps its essence. The light of the Garraf coast makes its white stone shine with an elegance so subtle it seems supernatural.
Two summers have passed since I took this photo, but every time I look at it I wait impatiently for the next one. All the more now, when I live by night and almost without light. In a few months I will return to the spot where I took it, where every evening, on my way back from Balmins beach, I sit and watch the sunset as if time knew how to stand still just for me.
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