jdb photos, 2018. To enlarge all photos, click on any one.
The prompt today is above.
I said I wouldn’t, but I did. More sunsets. Plus a capture of a pleasant blog setup after the dinner guests have gone. Nice to have some quiet time out on the deck with Annie. She didn’t cotton to it unless she was on my lap. Her first time out of the house since we got here. It was housecleaning/ sheet and towel washing day, so the porch was completely covered with washing in front. I thought it was good planning to have a dinner party because the housecleaner would have just been here, but forgot that linens would be hung out to dry. Oh well. Gave us privacy.
Click on photos to enlarge.
Beat this sky, if you can!! One of the best of countless fabulous sunsets in La Manzanilla.
(Click on photos to enlarge.)
Sunset Rating Society of La Manzanilla, Beach Bar Chapter.
When the pelicans stayed away for the past few weeks, the frigate birds were out in full force. Usually, it seems to me that these birds soar high above, swooping down only to steal other birds’ prizes, but two days ago, when the pelicans and fish came back as well, they appeared by the dozens, swooping down on the beach to claim bait left on the beach after the fishermen cleared their nets. It was an amazing display. Here are some of the hundreds of photos that I took of them that capture their numbers and antics to a small degree. Please click on the first photo and then the right arrows to proceed through the enlarged photos and to read the captions that tell the story of their visit to civilization:
Circling Closer:
The Magnificent Frigate Bird
They polonaise up higher,
far above the rest.
Not once dipping to the land.
Do they ever nest?
I never see them fishing,
foraging or chewing.
As though their wings are made for art
but are not made for doing.
A gentle crease within their wings
looks folded and unfolded,
but keeps its shape no matter what,
as though it has been molded.
This rhyme is not so fragile
nor so graceful as these birds.
I guess such elegance as theirs
cannot be caught in words.
(I wrote this poem a few years ago and published it in a series of poems about La Manzanilla. It seemed appropriate to publish it again with these photos.)
I have not changed the color in any way in these photos. It was really this bright. You can find more sunset photos of this night and a poem HERE.
Click first photo to enlarge all.. Ho hum, as usual. I put this instruction here for new viewers.. sorry, old hands. Don’t mean to insult you.
Annie Goes on a Beach Vacation
To read the poem that goes with these photos as well as to enlarge the photos, you must click on the first photo and then on each arrow on the right hand margin of each photo. If you are viewing via Facebook, you won’t see all the photos or the captions/poems unless you click on my URL or the name of my blog first. Facebook only shows a few of the photos unless you do this.
This post is for forgottenman, who asked for it!
A La Manzanilla tradition is the gathering each night to watch the sunset on the beach behind Daniel’s real estate office and home. I happen to rent the house next door and so nightly, even if I don’t always join them, I am still party to the sounds of laughter, talking and glug glug of tequila being poured into shot glasses. On those rare occasions when there is phosphorescence on the water, the “Ohhhhhhhhh’s” come in loud waves and I run out to share the spectacle. Daniel’s beach bar is only one of the aspects of this special place that make it special, but it is one so familiar to me that I wanted to share it with both those who know it well as well as those of you who don’t. Not written to any prompt, this one is written from the heart and memory:
Daniel’s Beach Bar
The wormwood planks above the sand,
set on pillars by his hand,
form a bench twelve feet or so
where every night townspeople go
to watch the sun sink in the ocean
and (if they should have the notion)
to share a tequila shot or two,
to chew the fat and share the view.
He is a solitary man,
tall and skeletal and tan.
Shirtless and shoeless, he sits among
the friends, like him, no longer young,
who choose this life of sand and sea
where they can be what they want to be.
A bottle cap sufficient to stub
his cigar smoked down to nub,
he leaves the ones who gather here,
and grabs another bottle of beer
to stroll back to his office where
for another hour, he’ll type and stare
at the screen where other friends abide,
locked securely there inside.
Tomorrow morning, the town asleep,
the village vagabond will sweep
the sand for butts of cigarettes,
his luck compounded when one forgets
a pack with one or two inside.
And though there’s no one there to chide,
still, he quickly palms them and
moves through last night’s littered sand––
past empty glasses and one or two
tequila bottles devoid of brew.
Last night’s spoils in light of day,
give last night’s revelries away.
(Click on any image to enlarge all)
