We’re in Zipolite, Oaxaca, Mexico.
DF and I spend the early afternoon in our quarters, sleeping and listening to the pound of the waves on the beach. After siesta, we take care of our bills and slip on some light clothing, she a thin dress and me a sarong. We plan to have a snack and walk nude on the beach for sunset.
We stop at a familiar restaurant. It is still too early to open. We’ll come back later. A block up the street there is another place that we know. We have a torta filled with baked veggies together.
We snap a few pictures along the way and then take the first alley to the beach, stopping at the end to disrobe. It is liberation to drop all and wander out onto the public beach. We pass a few kindred souls. Dogs play, frisbees are passed and soccer balls bounce. Everyone has an activity.
The ocean sneaks up on us a couple of times and recedes, leaving the bubbling tiny holes of crabs. We take opportunities to capture photos of the sunset and our joy.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. We’ll know when we get there. As far as we can, I guess.”
The sentiment is returned. We stroll off free ranging naked hand in hand.
We pass plenty of people and arrive at the east end of the beach. A woman walks by with a stick in hand. It is a huge insect, a walking stick. It bobs in the wind. I have never seen one so big. It’s features mimic a branch perfectly. She tells us that she found it earlier, stashed it and has just come to retrieve it. “I like to collect dead things,” She …