photography, San Miguel de Allende, Writings

Breakfast by the Jardine

They’re mostly gone now, the visitors, the tourists. Swept away by a late-season burst of rain and the chill in the air. Out with the marigolds and Catrinas and jacked-up prices — “make hay while the sun shines.” In with the hint of calm and solitude, if only for an eye-wink.

It is quiet for a moment. The so-called high season begins shortly, as the first dusting of snow transforms parts north and the occasional residents descend for the winter rounds of social gatherings, fine dining, concerts, and art exhibitions.

People coming and going in San Miguel are kind of like seasons all their own.

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San Miguel de Allende, Writings

Something is different: A morning walk in San Miguel in the Age of Pandemia

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Early evening in San Miguel de Allende. The clouds rise up in the east like fluffy canvases, awaiting the inspiration of the dying sun to recast them in gold and amber hues.

We walk this same path over and over, Moppit and I.

The pattern is unchanging.

Open the front door at 7 a.m.

Glance up into the sky and count the hot air balloons.

Or remark on their absence.

 

Today was a day to note their absence. Continue reading

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