Surrounded by the cars swishing by, stranded with a pen, a diary, cell phone and money for a chilled Mocachillo, she thinks of the hills,cascading waterfalls, misty morning walks, the purple sun-bird, the calf that followed her and the toothless smile of an ancient man who’d crossed her path.

Her mind is ever liberating, she’d change but only if she wanted to. She would evolve but with grace and a tinge of goof.

She is me.