Faded Yellow
Baja, Mexico
A row of sunburnt surfboards leaning like sentries against corrugated walls. Paint faded. Edges chipped. Each one holding a memory of waves long gone. The land behind is dry and patient, hills stacked with half-built dreams and slow afternoons. Palms barely move. Nothing here is in a hurry. This is a place that survives on swell forecasts, shade, and repetition — wake, surf, wait. The romance isn’t loud. It’s baked in. A frontier town for saltwater lifers, where the color yellow means readiness, not perfection.