Copacabana Stormy Day
The beach is deserted under the spell of dark foreboding clouds
Riders of the storm racing like the mares of an Apocalypse to come
The dreamy Ipanema girls and the cariocas have gone back to the hills
The sky comes ever lower, almost touching the sea bleeding their colors
We look up at the deluvian skies and expect that a divine hand will appear
A clenched fist or a finger in a deafening clap of thunder telling us to repent or to die
Photo Hugh Ardoin The Americas Gallery
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