One week. No plan. A few film rolls and the Moroccan coast.

Time dissolved in Essaouira, marked only by the call to prayer. Slow days, Atlantic wind, and that quiet energy I’ve come to love in places along the old hippie trail. A rhythm that invites you to simply exist: watching light shift over the medina, playing with cats, talking to strangers, listening to the waves, getting lost in the details.

Most of these photos were taken during Ramadán. Along the coast, in Marrakesh, and in the quiet encounter with the Atlas Mountains on the horizon.