We walked down hill, turned right, and headed down a stone-paved street into seaside Mazunte.
Mazunte from the ocean side.
We settle in for breakfast and watch the morning unfold.
I hold the table and watch our things.
The water is warm enough to stay in as long as you care to.
Sunlight coruscates off the swells.
A hammock vendor crisscrosses the sand, seeking customers.
So too walks a seller of tamales.
She comes, she passes.
She moves down the strand.
The slip-slap of her flip-flops fades.
My camera captures a split-second of foot-flung sand.