San Cristobal de las Casas, Mexico, Winter — I am wandering the worn cobblestone streets of San Cristobal, 7,000 feet high in the mountains of Chiapas. No other travelers are around yet; it is much too early. The locals of course have been up for hours, tending fires, harvesting and then walking miles with tomatoes, chiles, corn; selling while keeping warm under rough wool ponchos. I walk by a house with the door open; the front room is empty but filled with color and intriguing detail. The texture and blue of the well worn chairs becomes my focus but I want to include the bare light bulb, and the framed certificate of accomplishment... of what?... on the painted wall. I expose just a few frames and quietly continue my morning walk, alone with my thoughts.