To the Valley of my Ancestry

To sunny mornings and fresh air; watching Papa, the relentless cowboy, tend to the land and animals; to heading to the mercado with Mama, the persistent caretaker, before the vendors close for siesta, so she can make a feast for the hungry lunch crowd of family visitors; to going to the corner store for sodapop and bread rolls; to watching the clouds suddenly roll in for a thunderstorm afternoon and leave makeshift rivers on paved roads without drainage; to hikes along dirt paths, careful to not stumble over a red ant hill; to playing cards with the older generation; to drinking hot chocolate, homemade from the cacao, just the way abuelita would make it; to paying patronage to the village saints and their miracles; to giving homage in the unkempt cemeteries to those who've passed on; to the vast black and starry night sky; to having memories of my childhood flood my mind; and to checking the sheets for scorpions before going to bed-- in the valley of my ancestry.