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    • During the summer months in South Florida when the air is burdened with an oppressive humidity that wraps its sticky hands around your body like an unwanted embrace, the evenings crackle with electricity. Lightning storms pulse in the distance, flickering offshore in the direction of the Bahamas, a tropical breeze carrying walls of clouds towards the sand like a pyrotechnic armada.

      Late at night, with that nostalgic smell of rain carried in on the wind, gusts pushing the waves higher and higher, I'm more often than not the only one on the beach. Barefoot, icy beer in one hand, camera mounted on a tripod in the other, I roam up and down the shoreline, wading into the surf to set up my gear, hoping for the perfect bolt of lightning to crackle across the horizon while the shutter is open.