While I was out shooting the house today, I noticed how clear the horizon toward the mountains was.
Since I returned to Mexico, the humidity has been so high that the mountains have been hazier than those in Chinese folk tales. But the same rain yesterday that transported the styrofoam in the streets out to sea also cleared up our view.
I needed to wait for the sun to get to a different angle before I could do any more photography work on the house. So, off I went to the Melaque mirador to shoot some seascapes.
And clear it was. At least, the air was.
If you look closely at the top photograph, you will recognize it as the usual tourist shot of our little bay. With one exception.
The bay is usually as blue as that lagoon Brooke Shields swam in. But not today. It looked as if someone had made a mess out of a giant latte.
You can get a better idea of how brown the water is with this view of the bay water mixing with the Pacific. In several places, it looks as if Mark Rothco had painted the merge.
Here is a detail shot.
All of the brown, of course, is soil, sand, and silt (and, not to waste a perfectly good piece of alliteration, most likely, a bit of sewage) washed down from the surrounding mountains. And that made me think of the lyrics from "Sand and Water" -- a beautiful recounting of how are lives are similar to eroding stone: stone that is merely sand and water.
I will see you in the light of a thousand sunsThe next inevitable jump was thinking of Professor Jiggs and my Day of the Dead altar commemorating our friendship. As I stood on the mirador, I could hear those waves and see the sun reminding me that living here is an incredible experience.
I will hear you in the sound of the waves
I will know you when I come, as we all will come
Through the doors beyond the grave
And that thought was just too good not to hsare with you on this beautiful sunny afternoon.