Yesterday, we went to the beach. Our beaches are finally open after two months of barricades and close signs.
On the way to the coast, the protesters shut down two highways intersecting one of our small towns, a gateway to the coast. We had chosen a different road so we were not delayed.
The city I live in put together a downtown square, of cement obstacles to keep the people protesting protected and contained. The people don't want to be contained, they are on the move. Hundreds of them, every night strategically picking a new place to practice their freedom of speech. Last night, they were on the west side of town remembering Andy Lopez, a child shot down and killed by police a few years back. He was carrying a toy gun on his way home.
At the beach, diversity. All people of all colors and class cooling off from the record heats at home. Children carrying their plastic buckets to collect sand. People sunbathing. Fishing. Picnicking from the bed of their trucks.
We sat in our car eating our dinner of sandwiches and watermelon. I watched a redwing blackbird gobble up berries from a bush nearby.
Seagulls cried overhead. The sea touched the sand bathing people's feet as they walked on.