Still in Casitas, Veracruz.

Second post of the day.

Angie commented on my post yesterday, and I told her I would take a walk in the rain today, just for her. So I did. I walked down the beach. It wasn't raining very hard, but it was breezy. I wore my hot pink and turquoise 1980s vintage windbreaker over white Mexican shorts, purple faux-crocs on my feet. I was a vision of loveliness. ;>)

Small white shells dotted the beach, which was wet from the storm. I saw a quarter-sized, sand-encrusted crab scuttling along. Every eighteen or twenty inches, there was a hole in the sand, about the size of the crab - a tunnel, I presumed. I checked - and saw that the holes were actually all over the beach. Lacking a shovel, I didn't investigate, lest I get my fingers pinched.

I walked for ten or fifteen minutes before it occurred to me that the beach went on forever, and I should establish a point at which to turn back. Have you ever walked and walked, daydreaming, loving it, gotten tired, and realized belatedly that before you could rest, you had the same distance to walk all over again? Way down the beach, I saw what looked like a fallen tree. There were no live trees anywhere near it, and that piqued my curiosity. I decided that that would be my destination. On the way out, I didn't indulge in my usual pleasure, walking in the surf, because the water was choppy and the breakers were storm-dirty, more brown caps than white caps. I walked on the firm, moist sand instead. I passed a few hotels, some palm trees. There were no birds on the shore, probably because of the rough water. There were three brave people playing in the surf, though.

When I reached the tree, I saw that the trunk had been sawn at both ends, but the branches were still attached to the trunk. I think it was part of a madrona (aka arbutus) tree. There was nothing like it growing nearby. I suspect it was washed in during a storm. We have arbutus trees aplenty in British Columbia, where I spend most of the year. Seeing this one made me feel a little homesick.

On the way back, I let the water wash over my feet, just to get rid of some of the sand building up in my crocs, and then it didn't matter anymore that the waves were full of sand. It felt wonderful, as usual, and I walked the rest of the way with the surf breaking and dissolving over my legs.

Three hours later, the rain has stopped but the surf is angrier than ever. Somehow, I don't think the storm is over yet.