From Con Pasión Absoluta

No inner musings. No pondering or ideas. Perhaps the Mayas really do suspend this land from a tenuous thread of magic. A land woven on ageless looms, made not of soil, but from pieces of cloth on which the design of the universe is painted in ululating color. The volcanoes were the first thing I saw, on that dawn straining through the breath-frosted window of the airplane. The tips of their perfect cones broke through the cover of clouds as if to drink in the rarefied air above it.