HERONS OR CAVALRY OFFICERS

UP THE PACICIC COAST: FEBRUARY 21
Salinas de Cruz is twenty Ks up the coast from Tehuantepec. An oil refinery brought investment. New construction lines broad streets of what was recently a village. Tehuantepec has charm because it is forgotten. A little of the old ways remain. People are open. They forge friendships. I am privileged – as I have been throughout this journey. I want to stay a further week, watch Adela unearth her roots as she interacts with Fernando and his wife. And I would enjoy talking with Boris in the evenings. I could test my thoughts regarding the Conquest. Instead I ride towards a small community that was at risk when I traveled south in May of 2006 (see archives 05/21).
The road climbs and plummets through hills of scrub woodland with glimpses of sea and beach. In May of 2006, I left Tehuantepec at sunrise. The rains had come. The air was fresh and clean. Hills glowed emerald green. White and yellow blossoms splashed the canopy as did cascades of blue and crimson climbers. Vultures and hawks sailed the sky on dawn patrol. Today I leave nearer midday. Heat is oppressive. Trees are stripped of leaves and brittle. Hills are pale smoky gray.
Rivers have shrunk to a few muddy puddles. A lone white heron stands frozen in green shade. I spot a second in the next river, then a third. White herons or greater egrets? Narrow heads and long spindly legs make for cartoon cavalry officers. Do herons philosophize?
I pull in at a small restaurant. Venison stew is dish of the day. Is this the last deer? Should I refuse? What difference would refusal make?
I am a lone old man on a bike. At most, an ecentric. Influence? None.