and I don't just mean the lack of snow and serious cold, though for those, I am profoundly grateful. This part of Yucatan has become a cruise destination, but it has avoided becoming the tourist hell of Cancun or Cozumel on ship days; nor has it suffered the degree of gentrification that keeps people like those I grew up with from living on the island where we spent significant parts of our childhoods. And even with a mandate requiring masks just about everywhere except directly on the beach, there are no yahoos blocking traffic, screaming at people, or threatening government officials (though a few locals, especially those whose front yard is the sidewalk, do occasionally sit outside without them, and the cruseros often have to be gently reminded of the rules and provided with masks by health officials on the malecon).
Besides, when the next person is perhaps a quarter-mile away, the chances of spreading infection are not great.
It is also easy not to be obsessed with the human world. The creatures here have their own cultures, though some (particularly, it seems, the pigeons) make use of us. The male grackles hold Very Important Meetings every morning
and sing from every available perch. Sometimes they engage in handsome-grackle standoffs.
And the beach dogs (not to be confused with the sometimes-pitiful street dogs) seem to have their own culture and hold their own meetings.
And sometimes the morning light is a reminder to stop, and breathe, and be glad.
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