4 December 2008. Sun through scarves of mist, tracing the hills.
Yesterday--the ancestors. Faces of all ages--kindly and benevolent, peering down from the brightly lit walls, forging a connection through sense of touch. A dignified man with browned face, strong but rounded shoulders, hands tucked in pockets, standing in front of the landscape of Michoacan. A pueblo--Jaime has to check un papelito to recall the name, a place where "the houses still looked impoverished and broken. Despite this, the weather is beautiful and the people are as well..."
Later, gentle room with warm white walls--sitting side by side, la musica, beginning we know not where...
As well...
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