We are on a mini-holiday in Indio this weekend, with my parents, my aunt and uncle, and three cousins. This morning, while everyone else was still in their bedrooms, I went out to sit on our third-story balcony, laptop in hand, to take in the view of the pale brown hills and early morning blue skies, with plans to type and get some work done, but found myself chatting online with The Swede and people watching, instead.
There is a long, winding man-made river that weaves through the timeshare complex, with fountains and bridges placed every so many yards. Between the artificial green-blue color of the water and abundance of perfectly maintained plants along it, it looks much like the rivers that wind through mini golf parks. But in a much less kitschy way.
At one point, a man and young child stopped on one of the bridges near our balcony to watch a few ducks. From where I was sitting, it was hard to tell if the pair were parent and child, grandparent and grandchild, or something else. But the way the man smiled and pointed to the ducks, and the way the child watched in awe was heart warming. It was a simple, private, but universal moment. One of those moments that needs no language, no explanation. It was pure love.