Quite a shift, I know, from my previous post about ice. But I'm fortunate enough to be able to force a change of scene for a month every late winter. From the shades-of-gray, dark-at-4:30, crystallized-sound, nearly-odorless bleakness of a Minnesota winter to an explosion of light, color, noise and smells here in enchanting Zihuatanejo, Guerrero, Mexico.
It's tempting to fall for the photographic long shot here, what with the continent-spanning Sierra Madre del Sur looming to our backs, long stretches of postcard- perfect sand beaches on either side, and in front of us the vast reach of the Pacific opening just beyond the intimate embrace of Zihuatanejo Bay.
But I'm drawn to the details. After all, I am the Small-Wonder Man. So today was just about the ideal day for me; while Sally connected with an old friend over coffee—and later, I suspect, a bit of tequila—I got lost.
I looked for those rare images that tell a story—or ask a question.
EYE OF THE BEHOLDER
I wandered the gritty back streets of this pueblo, taking my time; stopping to chat with the locals when they weren't too busy with the hard work of scratching out a twelve-month living from a four-month tourist season; and looking for those rare images that tell a story—or ask a question.
I've undertaken some version or other of this quest each of the eight years we've been coming here, and I always feel good about coming home to our rented villa, taking a closer look at my finds, and seeing if there's anything there worth sharing.
Of course, worth is a relative thing; I can only hope you find meaning, beauty, intrigue—or at least a smile—in one or two of them.
|Hombre with white sombrero|
|Stairway to heaven?|
|Unchain my heart|