"Continuity

Roosters crow and the plaza comes to life every morning with newsboys, tourists, pigeons and grackles, prayers of the pilgrims, the balloon man, the cigarette lady, the horse with his blinders. Men stride through dressed for business in fresh-shined shoes. Cement façades are yellow gold, burnt red/orange, and keep still as clouds drift across the sun and shadows hover, persist. Rays of light fall from the sky, which is deep blue where it is not white with giant cumulus puffs. Black rain clouds move in, threatening, wind blows balloon streamers, smoke rises from tortilla barbecues, heads turn upward. The spires of La Parroquia point ever upright, smoothed by time and wind, pink walls muted by the rhythmic fall of light and shadow, day and night. San Miguel de Allende, where they were digging up the cobblestones that year, stabilizing foundations, replacing stones in the exact same spots, to be walked on, driven over, neglected, smoothed by footfall, tire treads, time and sunlight. Every gallery is full of art; each generation interprets same sights in new styles, with fresh eyes, pens, techniques, and shades of green. Silver is mined and shaped anew, to suit new tastes, fashions, geometries: spirals, hands, triangles, squares. Earth renews its gardens, women nurse newborns, they cry, learn to walk, trail clowns on wheels, run off, kiss, take vows, photograph moments, die, and nothing changes. Roosters crow and the plaza comes to life every morning, rays of light fall from the sky...."