By jlinaresp on Skatehive
Here in town, when the fog doesn't descend to touch the streets, but lingers for hours between the sky and the foothills of the surrounding mountains, the mornings are gray, and the elderly lean out of their doorways and simply say, "It's a gray day." And it's not just the sky; the harsh shadows disappear, and the contrasts are difficult to grasp. Moreover, the town itself, its people, and even the cars seem slower, older, and I could swear, "graier." So, these photos I brought to share with you here on #Hive are like that—they're from a gray day, where time seems to whisper the stories of its streets, speaking from even earlier times... Aquí en pueblo, cuando le niebla no desciende hasta tocarlas calles, sino que permanece durante horas entre el cielo y la faldas de las montañas delos alrededores; las mañanas son grises y los ancianos se asoman a las puertas de las casas y simplemente dicen: "Es un día Gris"... Y no solo es el cielo, sino que las sombras duras desaparecen, y los contr