Castillo de San Marcos
The rain had finally stopped, and I stepped out into the damp air, feeling the humidity cling to my skin. There was a quiet calm as the skies began to clear. It was the kind of calm that only comes after a downpour, when tourists and locals alike were driven inside, and had not yet returned. The Castillo de San Marcos stood just ahead, with its rough stone walls glistening under the patchy sunlight breaking through the clouds.
Perched along the coast of St. Augustine, the fort was strategically placed by the Spanish in the 17th century to guard their claim on Florida. They picked a spot that gave them a perfect view of any incoming ships, and they constructed the whole thing from coquina…a strange, shell-based stone that’s surprisingly tough. When cannonballs hit, the walls absorbed the impact instead of shattering. It’s incredible, really, thinking of all the battles and storms this place has survived, and here it still stands, looking as resilient as ever.
As I walked closer, the smell of wet stone and salt filled the air. The ground was still wet, and every step squished slightly underfoot. That dampness enhanced every detail, bringing out the deeper hues in the stone and making the colors around me pop. The stone walls had these rich, earthy tones, and everything just felt more alive.
Walking the grounds, I happened upon a lone oak. The tree, with its twisted trunk and lush green canopy, stood in contrast against the order of the historic stone walls. Spanish moss hung from the lower branches, pointing away from the costal breeze. The only sounds around me were the distant waves lapping at the shore and a lone gull calling out. It was like the whole world had quieted down just for a moment.
I wiped the humidity from my lens and framed up my shot. I wanted this photo to capture more than just the structure…I wanted it to show the strength of the fort and the calm of this place it was built to protect. Castillo de San Marcos had withstood centuries of storms, sieges, and everything in between. It’s built to bend, not break, which is probably why it’s still here.