Saturday morning. I decide to walk through the streets of Colonia Manuel Vallarta one more time before my flight leaves the Guadalajara airport at 5:30 p.m.
It is early and the streets are almost deserted. I arrive at Templo San Nicolás de Bari, only to find that the gates to the grounds are still locked.
Just then the groundskeeper comes with his key, and throws open the gates, so that worshipers can enter the church, or the weary can sit on a bench in the garden.
Without stopping, I continue on. The walk is my worship this morning.
At a nearby house, someone has piled used red bricks against a green wall. If Van Gogh were with me, he would love the interaction of light and color, and probably paint a masterpiece.
Near someone else’s front door, a morning newspaper lies unread. The inhabitants are sleeping in, no doubt.
At one intersection, a pink bougainvillea arches over the sidewalk. Two cats, startled by my approach, turn tail and run.
At the abandoned café a homeless man sleeps, nestled in a pile of rags, while two old men sweep debris from the street in front of their houses, chatting to each other as they swish their brooms.
My apartment is almost in sight. There, just around the corner.
I turn the key in the gate lock, probably for the last time until the taxi comes, climb the stairs, and begin packing my suitcase.
Little brown sparrow,
are three crumbs at dawn enough
for a daylong song?
Text and photo © 2017 by Mark M. Redfearn, all rights reserved