The clouds racing across the azure sky and piling up against the mountains like whipped cream
The gentle, crinkly eyes of Don Carlos smiling out from under his hat
Waking up to bright sunlight illuminating the pile of pink woolen blankets on my bed
The smell of wood smoke seeping up through cracks in the wooden floorboards
Fog sliding down the mountain through three hundred year-old trees encrusted with mosses and ferns
An intrepid cinnamon-colored doggy tearing unafraid up the mountain
Soft pink endangered moss forming soggy pillows in the treeless paramo.