More altars, more parades, more masks and costumes, more flowers and papel picado, more celebration everywhere.

Leaving school, I saw two groups working on two altars. I arrived at the posada to see water spilled all over the entryway as Mari was assembling the offenda there. I contributed to the madness by upsetting a second vase of flowers that had not been weighted down.

At the cafe where I joined friends for hot chocolate, the only bread they had was on the altar.

Browsing through the “new” stands selling all things Dia: copal, flowers, papel picado, statues, nuts, loquats, apples, oranges, bread by the truckload, I came across a man in a truck full of flowers. As I asked if I might take a photo, he rearranged his whole load and asked me questions as he worked and then posed.

There is so much to see and hear and taste and smell. Most importantly, I want to find the words to describe how this all feels. Instead, I report.

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