...the scent of fresh bread in the breeze that dances its way through the barrio;
...shrill chattering of locusts in the mesquite tree;
...a rainbow of life that ignites like fire when the sun dips below the mountain giants to the west;
...chortles of laughter among a circle of friends, gathered at the table wielding quarters at shot glasses;
...a cumbia beat, summoning the crowd to their shared stage on the dance floor;
...smoke rising out of the conch shell, hoping to draw a sense of spirit out of those who slumber;
...a phone call out of the blue, prompted by a dream from the night before;
...fragranced tierra borne of the oils of nature and the stew of desert rain;
...the solemn tune rising out of wooden flutes;
...tales shared around the flickering warmth of campfire;
...a Wizard, a Hobbit, and Prophet;
...posole at the end of a long night;
...the frustration that rises when a puzzle piece remains elusive;
...change under the cushions, always willing to repay debts;
...that knot tied in the middle of a tug-of-war rope;
...gray mist rising out of the mind between Snooze buttons;
...a bark, a snuggle, a lick;
...cardboard and marker, walking shoes and bullhorn;
...the accent that disguises its origins;
...both life and vida.
I am me.
Who are you?