My brain is full of Spanish verbs and vocabulary; I have no English words tonight. I spent my afternoon at a local market here in Guatemala trying to pick out a religious icon to call my own – face after face I examined the statues, looking for one that spoke to me. I finally found it, a tiny statue of the Virgin Mary, her painted face nearly rubbed away from many years in churches and homes and markets, from many years being held and loved and worshipped.
I’m always looking at faces when I travel, human or otherwise. They always tell a story.