Morning feels something like a secret.

Morning feels something like a secret. A hush. Pigeons flutter wings, chirp clumsily, sleepily. Slowly the town comes to wake, rolling up shutters (the sound of shutters will always remind me of Spain), turning over "Cerrado" signs to read "Abierto," one place down the street is frying churros.

Last night a fog settled on this town, but when I woke it had lifted. Lately, I've been waking up at every sunrise because the light hits the top of the church and makes it glow a deep rose. But today it glowed bright white. The sky is blue. I feel Spring is coming to Albox. And that changes everything (please be true).

Today Guillermo took us to see the Virgen del Saliente, on the side of the mountain, clouds hanging low. The monastery was cold, marble, ghostly, completely empty. We walked up to the Virgen with her golden crown, supported by two boyish angels, face beaming upwards while crushing the serpents of the apocalypse underfoot. We stood there in front of her. Guillermo said she was full of miracles, and that she grants miracles for those who throw roses at her. I pondered this, held my breath.