Every weekday morning my child bride and I do six laps around this neighborhood plaza. Six laps, plus the time it takes to walk to and from the Hacienda, add up to 20 minutes of walking to keep ourselves tight, fit and beautiful.
It rained overnight and, while walking past this church today, I considered going in and praying to the God in residence to put an end to it because this is way past the traditional rainy season. Enough already, I wanted to say to that God.
But the church door was locked, and I likely would not have done it anyway, lacking faith that it would have worked. But you never know.
Just up to the left, out of the photo, are the railroad tracks. Nearly every morning, I look up there and see the bunch of drunks who sit on the tracks with their bottles. That probably explains the quantity of little crosses planted along those tracks.
You get drunk. You fall down. You get run over by a train. One of the many drawbacks to boozing, something I know a good bit about. But not anymore.
This church was built in the 1500s by Spanish overseers and native labor, and there it still sits. It came before me, and it will be there long after me.
Our Hacienda was built nearby a decade ago by a Gringo overseer (me) and native labor. And God knows how long it will be there, but it too will outlast me.