Today the water is flat, outside my third floor patio perch, two blocks back, with hot coffee and Kahlua in hand. The days roll out slowly like this. Birds greeting the morning sun, and one by one my companions join me stretching from their slumber with bed head hair and rumpled clothes.
The mornings are peaceful and reflective. We speak in quiet tones and walk with gentle feet making up for the celebrating and poolside noodle dancing of the night before. Ah, the noodle dance, an interpretive new genre of movement that is part ballet and modern flow combined with exotic dance, all done with the aid of a bright pink floatie noodle. It’s silly and all fun till someone gets hurt. This time it was me who took the tumble after a particularly challenging one foot balancing move. So much for the noodle dance.
So this morning we wander each in our own silence. We gather scattered clothes. We whisper good mornings and listen to the soft roll of the water as it meets the shore.
Mexico days let us forget our other-side border lives. We waken slowly, play like children and spend hours floating in the flat surf on pink noodles while dolphins take turns dancing for us. I think they are hoping to borrow my noodle too.