It is Sunday morning and the sky is revving up its blue engine so that everyone in the neighborhood can’t miss it. Some people are in the church at Santo Domingo; some are relishing this start to the day under the palms. Others of us are strolling in these hours of stolen sunshine.
In a city that slows on Sundays, it is hard not to feel a little closer to some sort of spirituality–or at least reflection.
It is hard not to observe all of us (in our own small ways) reaching for something higher.
shewhodaresnothing 