Monday July 15th
I will be heading to the airport in an hour. It being the middle of the riding season, I must admit I have been missing my motorcycle rides. It will be nice to do a few before classes begin for the last time, and the snows return to the mountains.
Going home from this trip is bound to be different, as I reflect on the fact that it may be the last time I do so. Before coming here I was able to imagine, while sitting on the cabin’s front porch, being here, where I sit now as I write. I am gazing at the flat wide ocean, watching it’s color change as the sky brightens. The next land I would see should I sail south from where I sit would be Antarctica, the coldest, driest, and windiest continent. Big ocean, big planet.
After a month here, I think I finally have my internal compass set in the right direction.
Last evening I again went to Danny’s for dinner, and I payed 20 pesos per song for 3 songs from a strolling mariachi who came to my table. I watched the townspeople help the fisherman pull their boats up, and play soccer on the beach. I watched young fathers play with their children in the gentle surf, and I watched the big waves break on Playa Zicatela. I strolled the Adoquin and ate ice cream and shopped one more time. A storm rolled in at sunset and heat lightning surrounded me as I made my way up the Camino el Faro to the Casita en al Acantilado. I sat on the stoop in the backyard and watched the day end.
This morning I rose before dawn again, and watched the day begin. The fishing boats heading out to sea in the predawn light, the birdsong, the waves crashing on the rocks below the cliff. All is well.