tenderness, the small familiar word/that fits exactly in my mouth. - Rosario Castellanos

The wind fled into the heights, shrieking mournfully. A washed-out, cold sun shot its arrows down upon that barren hill.

I can say with Amado Nervo that "I loved and was loved and the sun caressed my face." But all of that happened in the School of Philosophy and Letters, in the halls that led from one classroom to another, from a lesson poorly noted, from a tutorial en route to a professional degree.

I have confidence not so much in my own abilities as in the generosity of everyone else.