Ship Shape.

In-spired.

Castries, Saint Lucia — The rope chafes against my leg, leaving waffle-like welts against a sunburn.

It's the price you pay for having always wanted to sit on the net at the front of a catamaran.

The craft slices through the water, spitting up crystals, as a sailboat glides past with the grace of a ballerina.

A solitary sea turtle carves arcs of water beneath its shell.

In the background, the Pitons — a pair of mountainous volcanic plugs — rise up in emerald greens.

In the foreground, too much rum punch.

Psalms and Palms.

Arch nemesis.

Castries, Saint Lucia – Like most, it’s a palm Sunday in Saint Lucia.

The streets are predominantly shuttered and even the steel sheet-covered Castries Market and Vendors Arcade, built in 1891, has fallen silent, apart from a few scattered tables of clothes and trinkets. The central fountain, sporting a lion's head and a mosaic basin, bears a large sign announcing "No smoking. No Spitting."

Hymns from the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, meanwhile, sway through the breeze in their best Sunday dresses.

They carry with them the colour of the islands.

All that remains is the palms, bent at the waist, sharp leaves like combs, rattling against the blue sky: nature’s percussion.