It's been an odd, if short, winter. I went to Mexico in late January and had a lovely time with my siblings (all but one) and parents. Just now, flipping through the photos, I can recapture the ease and brightness of those ten days. Some of us were staying in a condo/hotel - somewhat primitive but sufficient, and very spacious. Cerritos Beach was a couple of blocks away down a dusty, rutted road, past my brother's 1/3 acre compound of motorhome and palm-leaf-roofed open patio, where the rest of the clan were ensconsed. (This is on the Pacific side of Baja, north of Cabo San Lucas and a little south of Todos Santos.)
The beach is a magnet for surfers. Up on the hill above it is a glittering mansion, which serves as a luxury hotel now.
After a week of sun-drenched days and just-cool-enough breezes, I tripped and broke my wrist. I didn't think it was broken, though, and it didn't hurt all that much, so I kept on with the touristic routine with my family for another day
and then brought the wrist home to be x-rayed - and splinted, then put in a cast, then (because the bone was drifting a bit), put through surgery. I have a titanium plate in there now.
After several weeks of hand therapy, I'm typing again, though the range of motion isn't the best.
And now - a month to five weeks early - it's spring here, birdsong, leaf bud, green grass and all. May it not bode a slide into a baking and parched summer.