I have always loved Sunday afternoons.
The day softens to nearly nothing, nobody, no cares.
Cuando era joven (When I was young) we came back from the lake to a town newly born.
Cuando era un adolescente I would sit on the livingroom floor, listen to music, and let my eyes lose focus.
In Mazatlán the busy city becomes a small town.
At 4:00 nobody is out. The sun slants through the trees and buildings and the only sounds are the birds and ocean.
Mágico
(Not an amazing picture up Belisario Dominguez)
When I was working, Sunday afternoon meant I needed to get the laundry finished and do all the stuff you have to cram into a weekend. Now…it’s like you say…quiet and low key. Love the picture of Belisario Dominguez, looks like a narrow street, somehow. How’s you do that?