Bag of Limes

The setting sun turns the cloud filled sky into a colorful watercolor, a sandpiper walks the beach probing deep with his bill for food.   A photographer with a big lens is stalking him.  The bird will be silhouetted backed by peach water and dark ripples.  

All around me kids on wheels whirl and smile and fall, a dance on cement, skateboards, BMX bikes, low-riding tricycles, pink bikes with training wheels, each in their respective group, each interacting and pushing the limits.  A mix of gringo and local couples walk through the plaza and out the pier.   Flashing white Christmas lights spiral up palm trees.  All ages, all comfortable.  I notice a lone elderly Mexican man slowly hobbling through the plaza, through the commotion, unable to dodge anything.  In his hands is a bag of limes.  He wears old leather shoes, old brown slacks and an old flannel, tucked in, brown and green plaid.  His back is hunched and he strains to lift his eyes to see.  What does he see?  He sees a world that has changed in front of his eyes.  What does he think of what he sees?  Silently he hobbles on with his bag of limes and looks at the kids zipping on wheels.  He strains back to track the sound of a plane, he looses balance almost falling back, but he stables himself and looks around.

Here stands a flicker of fading light from yesterday, trying to comprehend the growing lights of tomorrow.  No one seems to see him, as he hobbles through with his bag of limes.  No one seems to realize that here walks the wisest man in La Paz, a man who has seen the world many times before the times that came before these times.  What would he tell us if we listed?  It’s all too beautiful…my eyes tear up.