The boats rest, frozen on the gentle blue bay. Houses nestle within the green hills, hills that rise into an endless sky. The afternoon is calm, the sea polite, and each fishing boat has returned from its early morning venture into the Pacific.
Walking lovers embrace with their fingers, their thoughts drifting to less public locations, but they are ruled by their sand-warmed bare feet, not straying from the open beach. In the café—constructed directly upon the sand —skilled competitors examine chess boards and, more intently, the faces of their opponents. Tall thin glasses, dripping with condensation, deliver respite from the August heat.
One small boy and one large dog sit beside a log on the ocean side of the café. The boy is Alejandro. The dog as yet is unnamed. From their perch, boy and dog can easily see and hear the waves pounding the shore, but they are not looking in that direction. They stare far to the south, to the red-roofed processing plant. Alejandro knows, though he hasn’t a watch, and can’t tell time anyway, his father will soon appear, at first indistinct from other men also walking north from the plant, but quickly recognizable. Upon positive identification, boy and dog will scamper noisily down the beach, running in and out of the water, racing to greet the father.
Just like yesterday. Just like tomorrow.
Grey Sparrow Journal 