Morning in Mindo

Field Notes:

At six in the morning, before hummingbird photographers arrive and cafés open, Mindo belongs to the chickens and stray dogs.

I stand in the middle of the street with a cup of coffee brewed in the hostel’s kitchen and listen as the village awakens. Roosters crowing. A door opens then closes somewhere nearby. A faint scent of woodsmoke drifts through the damp air. The pavers are still wet and wisps of fog rise from the forest after the night’s rain.

A few chickens wander down the street to check out the lanky gringo just standing there.

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There are moments
when everything makes perfect sense
viewed over
a cup of coffee

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