Trinidad is a little town in Sancti Spíritus province (central Cuba) that hums with life lived bright on quiet streets.
The cobbled streets, and the tour-bus clamour of the centre, stand stark against the bare blue sky.
But at the edges they fade into something rougher and yet much more lovely.
Colours seem to drift and fade into each other as light wearies with the sun’s slump, the pull of longer shadows.
Dusk sits still on steps and stoops, laughing and chattering about the play of sun of peeling paint.