04/02/2023
In Rio, off of Ipanema beach, there is a beautiful rock formation one can climb to experience a breathtaking sunset. It is almost a religious experience which at dusk systematically gathers a crowd of friends and lovers, local fishermen and tourists. Friends chat on those cliffs, couples cuddle, while men with trays of colorful drinks yell “Caipirinha” as they wander through the crowd.
As I was awaiting the sunset, I saw a woman climbing up those rocks. She was barefoot, wearing a flowing sundress, with a lit cigarette hanging off her bottom lip. Her shoulder-length hair was aged white down half of her head with a clear transition into chocolate brown at the nape of her neck. She skipped up the boulders with an energy of a young teenager, while chatting with the fishermen, who were patiently waiting for their catch while watching the sunset over the ocean.
I could not pinpoint her age, as her energy did not match her outward appearance. She had an ease of movement and an easy smile. Her beauty was frozen in time in the sparkle of her eyes.
I approached her, as she was chatting with another, and asked her if I could take her photo because I found her so “Bonito”. Her friend translated my request into Portuguese. She laughed, laid down on the rocks, and posed in a bo***ir type of manner.
As I took this photo of her, all I could think of is how she had more life in her little finger than most of us live in a lifetime.
