Looking Out My Back Door: Inevitability of life

This morning I sat waiting in the pulmonia outside the Mercado in Historico Old Town Mazatlan. The streets swarmed with carts, buses, autos, pedestrians and bicycles. I squinched my eyes and reduced the sights to kaleidoscopic colors, brilliant in the sun. I could smell meats on the grills across the street, guavas and oranges from the cart behind me. Shouts of vendors, of laughter, voices conversing in several languages filled my ears. Tears for no reason ran down my cheeks.

I returned home, stowed my purchases and opened an email from my daughter. “Mom, I just want you to know I love you. Da...