this is the stone drenched in rain that marks the way –Santōka (1882-1940)     Church bells are ringing in San Miguel, all of them, for the last ten minutes. This cobblestone city is 500-years old and it feels medieval, these bells filling the air, tolling the last public Catholic mass as we await…

Part I I find her sitting under a tarp on the corner of Cinco de Mayo and Las Moras, selling nopal salad and avocados, her greying black hair, straight hair very long, covered with a head cloth. She wears a blue sweater for the morning chill, a flowered apron underneath, brown hands moving deliberately, trimming…