Jani and Roti (18)

Three happy cell phone calls when my plane landed, headed for luggage, found my bag right away. The perfect bench on a path along the bay. Fresh watermelon juice and toasted walnuts and strawberry-mango puree, made and packed with love. The perfect clean and handy restroom to use in a business building nearby, lots of glass, but no way to know if there were really people inside. Endless hours walking the trails along the bay, along the canals, water and sunshine everywhere. Talking without stopping, loving being in the same place for a change, not talking on the phone, holding hands, laughing, me having to pee again. Happy. Once we heard a song sparrow.

Later, eating the most amazing Indian food of my life at Roti, the combination of spices making me salivate weeks later as I remember. The addictive Indian pickle thing, and drinking tons of water later in reaction to the salt of it. More walking, nearer to Vivie's now, knowing our day was almost over. The birds a wonder, protected in the spot by the wastewater treatment plant. Fields of birds whose names I forget now, in numbers unlooked for on the peninsula, row upon row of them sitting on little sandbar-like mounds in the water, then swooping into the air in a solid expanse of warm wings and feathers. A surprise to become so ungrounded at the end, trying to transition but not wanting to say goodbye to Jani, to our day. So full, warm, welcoming. So rich.