This was going to be a slow start to a few weeks of sunshine. A break from the Vancouver rains. The rains never showed up in Vancouver and the break was interrupted by clouding events. The truth of the matter is more like this:
We arrived at our destination, a short 12 kilometres from the ferry dock in Cozumel and in the day ending dark walked through a doorway that opened to vistas of ocean with moonlight dancing on wave crests as we stashed our shorts and water gear into drawers and settled into the quiet. The yongsters picked the location for the diving, the middlers were determined to get certified and age settled for a good read.
The painted food-cart was a bit more than illusion, it charged real money for food! The roof lines shading the clients and the painting a lot less expensive than the spark plug version. As facades go it was great graffiti and iron-less irony.
The pier outside our windows was home to pelicans that could see fish that our diving friends with all their gear could only capture with a long lens on a go-pro. The daily dives and the glass bottomed kayaks and the rythms of the tides all under a sun burnt sky waiting.
This morning again the dive boats carrying a cargo of explorers pass across the horizon. Tanks lined on decks like missiles seeking targets. At sundown I paused to see the daily clips from the underwater camera and kindle the day with story and food. We said grace, not because of some tradition, rather we felt blessed. Gratitude for time and place.
The recycled red roof, corrugated by wind and time more than design, was being patched again. The gaps in the strips of tin bridged by some weather shredded plastic and held down by stones and string to wait for the next storm. The bright red paint on the neighbours house covered a decade of struggling. Gratitude has a way of restoring humility. Of acknowledging goodness.