Walking back towards New Kino and the posada where a pair of my sandals lie on the floor and a jar of salsa sits open on the desk and two toothbrushes balance on sink's edge, a place that is surprisingly easy to think of as home, I am optimistic now that I have survived another odd day, alone and pregnant in the heat of a foreign land, now that I am returning to where I started. Pelicans flap their wings, their prehistoric beaks tickled by the tips of the waves, and children drag red and yellow buckets, chasing sand pipers, splashing the water with their feet. Teenagers sit together under umbrellas, talking on their phones and slapping each other teasingly on the arms. And the seagulls hop from one foot to another, nervous at the shrinking of their beach as more and more people wake from their siestas and come down to swim. I am buoyant as evening approaches. I roll along, one foot to the next, listening to the slap of ocean water and the static of human noises as if it were music, smelling sea weed and sun tan lotion and the relief that rises from my skin.