Excerpt: CELEBRATION

WHERE MY FEET TOOK ME

In star and moon-glow of early mornings, before dawn breaks in on Los Barriles, listen to the silence of this Paradise. Nothing! Nothing? Is that the geccccckoooo sound that the suction footed geckos utter as they cutely scoot across the ceiling. Hark, listen to the shiny blue-black lucky crickets' chirping ballads joining with the shrilly singing spade toads on the make. Dissonance to dreams by.
Is that the sound of distant surf carpeting up the beaches with a rhythmic gentle sloshing on the sands? Faintly, above the swish of surf, clinking bells can be heard. The herds of nocturnal ganado; bulls, cows and calves, are on the move. Swaying stately through town in the half light before dawn. Reaching their ropey necks to nibble languidly the succulent mango, papaya, pulmeria and hibiscus trees in private gringo yards. Their favorite course is the empty concrete sacks festooning the landscape. Delicioso. Why? The paper is made from corn. Tastier and not so picante as prickly agave and cholla. Their placid faces full of sharp needles pierce through bovine leathery tongues as the contentedly chew their cuds.
Other clanking bells are heard dangling from the necks of wandering horses, burros and goats.
Four AM is called the "dog watch" with reason. Mixtos Mexicanos dogs bark at each other and at the moon competing with a howling pack of coyotes. This foxy canine chorus with many solos goes on, spasmodically, all night, every night. Then before first faint light, amorous cocks are crowing, butting in, bragging of past and the future conquests they will enjoy, before day breaks.
The sun is greeted with a raucous: "The Glass House The Glass House The Glass House!" embraced by red-headed woodpeckers. Night gray fades into vivid pinks and ripens into reds shot through with flaming golds. The stage is set and the orchestra of life has been tuned up for the daily concert of Mexican morning music in Los Barriles.
At first light, looking up and down our dusty dry, dun dirty, heavily pockmarked main drag, you'll see many shimmering fountains geyser into the air. Each raining water to dampen dust before it rises to meet the morn. A holy hosing performed several times throughout hot gritty days. A hospitable ritual enacted daily by proprietarias of retail businesses that line our busy thoroughfare.
They're out damping dust and lubricating the sand, smoothing the way for business in busy Los Barriles, Baja, Mexico.
The partner of Carmen and owner of Super "El Ancla" Tienda is Jesus, nicknamed Chuny. Usually his esosa is the one that wets down the calle. This morning it’s Chuny, his capable brown hands grasp the hissing python. His thick strong thumb controls the surging silver shower.
My car window was wide open as I drove by …my face rudely wetly slapped!
Threatening growls rose quavering from deep within his ample belly and barrel chest; "Dios mio, lo siento señor. Mi pulgar he slipped." Mockingly growling I shouted back; "Hola amigo! Buenos diez, señor! Chuny's threatening beetle brows and tight-lipped scowl melted into a wide white tomb stoned grin. "Como esta, señor?" he growled. "Mojar! Gracias Señor Chuny!" I retorted as I parked the rusty Chevrolet. Then proceeded to wring el regalo de aqua soaked colas de la camisa and pañuelo on the steps of the Super Tienda. Well known among local Gringos and Mexicans, Chuny is a dangerous hombre to tangle with.