São Miguel has one road that matters, and it goes all the way round. I drove it slowly for ten days, stopping wherever the light or a conversation asked me to, and came home with fewer frames than ever — and more of them I want to keep.
The island changes its mind every twenty minutes. A clear valley disappears into cloud, a grey coast turns silver, and the wind decides everything. I stopped fighting it on the second day and started planning around it: mornings on the west side, afternoons wherever the sky had just cleared.
You don’t photograph the weather here. You wait with it.
A farmer near Sete Cidades
Most of the pictures are of people at the edge of the road: a farmer moving cows at dawn, two sisters selling cheese from the boot of a car, a postman who has driven the same loop for thirty-one years. The series will run in full this winter.