Cabos Calling

The fishing boats started to head out before the sun. I watched them from the patio of my hotel room. I hoped they would have luck. Because I know, like many sporting men, too many hopeful mornings turned into disappointing nights. But the fishing is good here in Cabos. Someone will return with a trophy marlin, surely.

I snuck back inside and poured a second cup of coffee. A risky mission with a sleeping wife but I survived and returned to the patio to enjoy the ocean. I listened for the sweet spot. The moment after a wave breaks and begins to die, it retreats over the rocks and sand, and fizzles away like white noise. It's my reminder that I'm thousands of miles from home. There would be no commute blocked in from buildings and bouncing from traffic light to traffic light. Time is slow here. Relaxation alone is my itinerary. I hear the waves fizzles again and smile.

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